A Secret Chord
by smuffly
Summary: One by one, children are disappearing. Is there something that ties all these cases together? A team fic, set in early Season 2 and featuring Adam, with Lindsay and Mac.
1. Chapter 1

**A SECRET CHORD**

**A/N: There are two different strands to this story. The more recent one takes place during early Season 2, before the episode 'Bad Beat', where Adam first appears. As for the earlier one – well, I'm sure you'll work it out…**

**Updates will be weekly.**

**Enjoy!**

**-x0x-**

**Chapter One**

_**Arizona, 1985**_

_Thomas watched the whole thing through the window._

_He had seen the two boys before. They came to the bus stop opposite the house every day; sometimes racing each other and only just on time, sometimes early and standing apart as though they barely knew each other - yet it was clear they were brothers. The older one was stocky, with a heavy scowl that dared the world to cross him. The young one was quiet and wary. Both had a mop of chestnut curls, untamed and - Thomas suspected - quite untamable. _

_For the first few weeks, he had only noticed them in passing; an accidental glimpse as he lifted his gaze from the piano keys. But working from home meant that days were long and distraction was an ever-present issue. The view from his window became addictive, like a haunting piece of music or a gripping novel. He found himself sitting down at the piano ahead of time, mug of coffee abandoned on the high pile of sheet music at his side, staring through the window with an air of guilt-ridden fascination, as his fingers roamed the keys in a vague attempt to prove that he was still working. A story was playing out in front of him; vivid snatches that only left him wanting more._

_And then it happened._

_Something in the young boy's world had unsettled him today. His head was low and his foot kicked the dirt at the side of the road, firing it into the air all around him. He wore the same clothes as yesterday; a Superman t-shirt and a pair of over-sized jeans, lashed to his waist with a belt and rolled up at the ankles. Their tired state implied that they had belonged to someone else, not so very long ago. The boy standing next to him, perhaps. That delightful specimen of youth was staring down the road with a sullen, hangdog expression when, all at once, an errant stone flew up and stung his knuckles. He turned and grabbed his brother by the shoulders, shoving him backwards. The little boy stumbled and fell in a cloud of dust. His mouth flew open in shock but no sound came out. Instead, he scrabbled backwards to a safe distance and sat there, rocking on the ground with his arms around his knees. The small head drooped even lower until the only thing visible was a burning pair of blue eyes, red around the edges and scowling at the grubby tips of his sneakers._

_Folding his arms and feigning satisfaction, even though he was clearly rattled by the intensity of his brother's distress, the older boy turned his back and stared down the road as though nothing was wrong. Now and then, he risked a glance behind him but the little boy never noticed; or at least, he chose not to. All this time, no words had passed between them._

_What to do? Both boys would be horrified to learn that their actions were being observed, yet Thomas, full of sympathy for the little victim, felt a strong urge to intervene. His problem appeared to be solved when the school bus finally trundled into view, crawling out of the heat haze like an ugly yellow dinosaur, one hot summer away from extinction. The older boy stepped forward, holding out his hand to halt the bus. The little boy leapt to his feet and dove, head first, into the scrubby bushes that lined the road._

_Thomas watched with bated breath, all pretense at work abandoned, as the bus crawled to a halt in front of his window. It was full of lively, chattering heads; happy children, on their way to a happy day at school. Climbing on with haste, the older brother spoke to the driver for a moment and then made his way to the back where his friends were waiting. With a sickly roar, the bus moved on._

_A pair of wide eyes followed its progress from the bushes._

_When the little boy judged that he was safe, he clambered out again with some difficulty, snagging his jeans in the process and ripping a hole in the left leg. His thin face was jubilant at first but, as he continued to watch the bus dwindle away down the road and slip back through the hazy cloak that circled his small world, his chin began to wobble and his eyes grew even wider; glassy with tears, like two blue marbles. No one could see him - and now it was safe to cry. Tilting his head back, he howled his distress to the open sky; a lonely child with nobody to help him._

_Resolve set in like a burst of adrenaline, fiery and unstoppable. Before he could think too deeply about the consequences of his action, Thomas left his stool, his door and his house behind and walked across the wide grey road to the child that needed him._

_-x0x-_

**New York City, 2005**

Jason couldn't say exactly what it was that woke him. All he knew was that, suddenly, he found himself staring up at the ceiling, watching the sliding patches of light that meant a car was passing by outside. The room felt cold and lonely - and _wrong_ somehow.

"Roo?" he whispered, straining his ears for the sound of her breathing. She must have snuggled deep beneath the covers tonight because he couldn't hear a thing. "Roo?" he tried again, a little more urgently this time.

No reply. With a shiver, Jason poked his toes out into the freezing air. The carpet that managed to cover two-thirds of the floor was old and thin. Setting his feet down, he gave a little squeak of shock. He dragged the quilt from his bed and wrapped it around his shoulders like a cloak. It was far too long, of course, and the tail end slithered behind him with a satisfying noise as he made his way to his sister's bed on the opposite side of the room.

But Roo wasn't there.

Her own quilt lay on the floor in a jumbled heap. The empty bed was pale and exposed; the white sheet gleaming through the darkness like a ghost. Reaching out, he stroked it curiously. The deep hollow worn by her body was warm to the touch. She had gone to the bathroom, then. That had to be it and, of course, she'd be back any minute. Jason smiled.

Climbing up, he pulled both quilts around him and sat on her bed, cross-legged, his eyes fixed on the crack of light that framed the Door as he waited for his sister to return. When he was very young, they often used to snuggle together for comfort and warmth. Now that Roo was older, and Jason too, she liked to discourage him, saying quite firmly that big boys belonged in their own beds. Tonight, however, he was cold and a little bit scared, all alone in the dark. Surely she would understand? He yearned for the comfort of her arms. Time passed, and he began to wonder why she was taking so long.

"Roo," he breathed, and this time it was more of a whimper. Jason knew. He knew exactly what he had to do and it frightened him.

He had to go and find her.

_No,_ said the big black Door. _You can't go past me._ The cracks around it were so bright that when Jason looked away, he could still see a glowing shape painted on the air, like an empty frame. He watched it fade, wishing that Roo's face would pop up inside it; a living picture. That was the game they used to play, when neither one of them could sleep. But the room, like the frame, was empty and when the magic light had faded, Jason took a deep breath and slid down from the bed. "I'm going," he told the Door. "An' you can't stop me."

He stumbled towards his foe. Rules were rules, but this was important. He wasn't supposed to leave the room – like a baby, he couldn't control himself and still wore pull-ups at night – but what if Roo was hurt somewhere, and all alone?

Reaching out, he found the handle in the darkness. It was cold and stung his hand but he clung to it tightly and dragged it downwards. The Door swung over his toes, scraping the bare skin and making him jump. "Ow!" he cried out, and then froze. He listened intently, but no one had noticed the sound. Mommy was snoring in the Big Room; little piggy snores that stopped and started with a gurgle. Daddy was quiet – but then, he always was.

Jason crept past the Door with a shudder. As he tiptoed down the hallway, he could feel it behind him, watching sternly like a Cop. Every timid step took him further away from the place where he was meant to be. But Roo was meant to be there too, and Jason couldn't bear Not Knowing any longer. He clenched his little fists and headed for the bathroom.

She wasn't there either.

He tugged on the light switch and stared at the gleaming white sink. He checked the bath and the wash-basket. He even peered down the toilet, though he couldn't say why. The room was empty. It smelled of disinfectant, just the way Mommy liked it. Jason saw his own face in the mirror, white and scared, and watched his bottom lip begin to quiver. _Where was Roo?_

Padding out of the bathroom he tried not to cry but already, big fat tears were squeezing out of his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. He wondered where they came from and why they always made him feel so sad. Wiping the first few away with the back of his hand, he ventured even further. Every step felt like a new crime. When he poked his head into the living room, he stopped in shock.

The Front Door was open.

That was the worst crime of all, especially at night. Had Mommy done it? Or – Jason started to panic – surely not Roo? He trembled to think of the trouble they'd be in. Outside, the darkness was blacker than ever, a Nothing world. It swallowed the lobby completely. A hundred monsters could be waiting there to gobble him up and Jason would never see them until it was too late.

His hands clutched his mouth and he screamed in silence as a shape detached itself from Nothing and staggered through the doorway.

"Jason," a voice growled. "What are you doing there?"

He shook his head and backed away. The Monster was angry. Its claws reached out for him and they were red. There were scratches on its face – and the face was familiar.

"Daddy?" he whispered. "Where's Roo?"


	2. Chapter 2

**A SECRET CHORD**

**Chapter Two**

_**Arizona 1985**_

_Thomas reached the little boy and halted, awkwardness filling the space between them. He crouched down, trying to lessen the towering impact of his lanky frame._

"_Are you okay?" he asked quietly. Stupid, useless question, but really, what else could he say? "My name's Thomas. What's your name?" One cliché may as well follow another. He stared, and then told himself off for staring – but looking away felt worse, like some kind of insult. Thomas sighed. So much for being the perfect Good Samaritan. "No; never mind all that," he offered, at last. "You don't need to tell me who are you are. I just want to help you, if I can. I saw what happened."_

_The boy was a mess. His eyes were almost blind with tears and he turned his back on Thomas, clearly ashamed of his weakness. "I'm fine," he mumbled. His voice was quiet too, and hesitant, almost as though every word was a challenge that needed to be overcome._

_Thomas laughed out loud. Call it nerves, but he simply couldn't help himself._

"_Oh, come on now," he said. "Of course you're not."_

_With an expression of shock that was commonly known as 'catching flies', the little boy gawped at him over his shoulder. "I'm not a liar," he whispered, stung by the implication._

"_That's not what I meant." Thomas hastened to reassure him, seeing the hurt on his face. "The thing is…. You're trying to be brave and really there's no need. Sometimes, it's alright to be unhappy."_

_The boy gave a wobbly sigh and sat down in the dirt. Nothing ventured, Thomas thought, and sat down beside him._

"_You sound funny." Two wet eyes blinked at him._

"_I know." Thomas nodded solemnly. "Sharp, aren't you? That's because I'm not from Phoenix. I'm from London. You know where that is?"_

"_Yes," the boy said, full of sudden pride. He dragged a fist across his filthy cheeks, first one and then the other. "London's the capital of Eng-er-land."_

"_Very good." Thomas nodded. "Clever boy. Ever been there?"_

"_Course not. That's a silly question. I live here."_

"_Yes, you do," the man said softly. He wriggled with discomfort. The sun was a stern eye, searing the back of his neck. "Look, can I take you to your house or something?" There was no way he could leave the child at the side of the road in such a state - which meant that he had two options. This was the least unsettling for all concerned; or so he thought, until he saw the closed look that slid down over the young boy's face._

"_There's no one home." The lie burned brightly on the boy's cheeks and he ducked his head, full of shame. Thomas saw, and wondered… and made a choice._

"_If you say so. Hungry?" he asked in a nonchalant tone._

_The scruffy head shook imperceptibly._

"_No, thanks," the boy whispered, biting his lip. Another reluctant lie?_

"_Okay." Thomas tried again. "Like music?"_

"_Oh!" the boy said, and this time his head shot up. "Oh, yes. I mean, I do." Like a match to a piece of paper, the words lit a fire in his eyes. Thomas gave a wide grin and clambered to his feet, brushing the dust from his jeans._

"_Come on, then," he said, with his hand outstretched. He didn't expect a response but, to his surprise, the boy took it, slipping his damp fingers into the larger palm with sudden confidence. Together, they walked across the road and up the path in friendly silence. When they reached the open door, the little boy tugged on the tall man's hand, pulling him down as he whispered a precious secret._

"_Mister Thomas? My name's Adam."_

-x0x-

**New York City, 2005**

Mac Taylor was a man of instinct but he also knew from experience that first impressions could be deceptive. Sometimes they filled you with gut-wrenching certainty. Sometimes they confused you. Sometimes they sent you hurtling off in the wrong direction, reluctant to change course; a dog with the flash of a bobtail in its sight. Over the years, Mac had learned to temper the trait, first with duty and then with science. Even so, he could still be thrown off guard and tonight was a prime example.

Meeting Paul Eggar for the first time, he found himself tensing like a rookie face to face with his first real criminal. One look at that florid face and those arms – whip-thin with knots for muscles – caused his jaw to clench and his lips to press together in a hard line as he fought to hold back all signs of his repulsion. Eggar was a type, and an obvious one. The urge to believe in his guilt straight away was overwhelming. Tempted by an easy option, Mac forced himself to stay objective. First impressions weren't his remit; his team was here for the evidence.

In a Brooklyn neighbourhood that was reasonably well-to-do, this particular ground floor apartment was sizeable and clean, yet sparsely furnished as though its tenants had seen better days and were slowly selling off their comforts one by one. Pretty soon, they would have nothing left but the bare essentials – and each other. Mac wondered what it was that held this family together – warmth and loyalty or cold obedience? Watching the man who stood beside Detective Flack, he caught himself making another assumption, and frowned.

"Who's this, now?" Paul Eggar's voice was both soft and emphatic. His pale, fishy eyes swivelled rapidly, fixing their gaze on Mac. "Why are there so many cops in my home, wasting time on ridiculous questions? You should be out there combing the city for my daughter. Anything happens to her…" He clenched his fingers, wincing sharply when the action seemed to cause him pain.

"Still keepin' that up?" Don Flack folded his arms and faced Eggar down with a scornful expression that barely concealed his own anger. "Has it somehow escaped your notice that you're the one in trouble here, Paul? Believe me when I tell you, we're lookin' for Ruth, okay, and we're giving it all we got. This whole city's on a full-scale AMBER Alert. Of course, you could shorten our search if you told us where you left her – but then, I doubt you'll be doin' that any time soon." He shot a quick glance of acknowledgement in Mac's direction. "Lucky for me, Detective Taylor has a way with evidence that means you don't have to say another word."

Three steps behind him, Mac heard Lindsay Monroe give a gasp as she passed through the front door and saw the ominous state of Paul Eggar. Turning back, the detective raised his eyebrows in a private challenge: _You okay?_ On paper and in person, Lindsay gave the impression that she was an excellent CSI – her transcripts from Montana were bursting with praise – but here in his sandbox, she was the stranger on a team still reeling from the dismissal of Aiden Burn. He had very little first-hand knowledge of her skills in the field; only a sense that he wanted to trust her. He wanted it badly. Aiden's behaviour had saddened him.

Eggar caught the gasp. He shifted his pale eyes again but Lindsay had already straightened her features and stared back impassively. _Good, _Mac thought. _Very good._ The act was reassuring. Now that Lindsay was fully in control, she let her calm gaze drift across the deep scratches on both of Eggar's cheeks; the blood on his clothes; his battered knuckles. No reaction – not this time – but Mac could tell her sharp brain was cataloguing every detail.

"Paul Eggar," Flack said, turning his back on the suspect. His tone was heavy as he began to fill them in, and his words lacked their usual levity. Any humour that remained was false and slightly uncomfortable. Scumbags who hurt kids were right at the top of Flack's 'no mercy' list. "Seen by his five year old son, Jason, coming home covered in blood not half an hour ago. His teenage daughter, Ruth, is missing. _Eggar _states that he heard her leaving and followed her out. His defence – get this – is that _she _attacked _him_." Scepticism burned in his eyes. "Brought him down all by herself. A thirteen year old girl, who then disappeared into thin air."

"Believe it. I'm telling the truth," Eggar shrugged.

"Oh, I'll believe it when _he _proves it." Flack ground the statement out between his teeth and stabbed a finger in Mac's direction. "And if he does, Paul, that's when I'll start asking 'why'. As in: 'why would a young girl attack her father..?' Any thoughts?"

"Whatever happened between them, we'll prove it," Mac interjected quietly. Flack took a deep breath and nodded. "Right now, our top priority is finding Ruth."

"Thank you. At last," Eggar crowed. "A man who sees things my way."

"I like to think I see things exactly as they are, Mr. Eggar," Mac told him pointedly, staring at his swollen knuckles. Eggar fell silent.

Setting down his kit, Mac turned to Lindsay. Her face was expectant. "Take the bedroom," he said. "I'll stay here." Lindsay nodded and left his side as Mac snapped the latches on his metal case.

Eggar flinched. "What you got in there, anyway?"

Smiling grimly, it was Flack who replied. "Answers, Paul. And you better hope they match your statement - or that hole you've been diggin' for yourself? It's gonna get real deep, _real_ quick…"

-x0x-

Lindsay stood in the middle of the children's room and looked around her. Somewhere in this bare little sanctuary there might – no, there _had _to be a key to Ruth's behaviour. Did the girl flee of her own accord? Was there something more sinister going on? Ruth wasn't there to explain herself, but with luck and good judgement, maybe Lindsay's search would uncover a clue that could help them. _Help Ruth,_ she corrected herself firmly, trying not to think about the worst case scenario in which Ruth was already far beyond their help.

Men who hurt children were monsters in her opinion. They were her weakness; her Achilles' heel – they threatened her equilibrium every time she encountered them. _They_ – for it was easier to use an impersonal plural – _they_ were also the reason she was standing here today, a fully-fledged CSI, thousands of miles from home, trying to make sense of the tragedy that was someone else's life.

Ruth's bed was under the window, surrounded by neat piles that almost seemed to fence it in – notebooks, novels, her school bag, a battered laptop perched on a cardboard box. Lindsay stepped towards the girl's domain, feeling oddly intrusive. As she did so, a noise made her turn. Standing in the doorway, she saw a small boy with a mop of dark hair and eyes so wide, they spoke to her directly. _Who are you,_ they demanded, _and why are you in my room?_

What was the brother's name? Oh, yes… "Jason," she said, and his eyes grew even wider, as though she was some kind of magical creature who could read his mind. _How did you know…?_

"Jason, where's your mom?" Lindsay asked, moving forwards slowly. Like a bird, he was a flight risk and she didn't want to startle him. His voice, when it finally came, was high and slightly breathless. Her own chest ached in sympathy.

"In the kitchen with the cop lady. But she's crying. I'm s'posed to go to my room when she's crying."

Lindsay dropped down to his level. She was close now; close enough to watch the urgent rise and fall of his skinny ribs beneath the Pokémon top. "Does she cry a lot?"

"Mostly all the time," he whispered.

There was a lump in her throat. She swallowed past it. "What about Ruth? Does she cry too?"

Jason peered over her shoulder, into the bedroom. "No," he said, with a vehement shake of his head. "Not ever. Roo looks after me. We play games."

"That sounds like fun. What games?"

"I like hide and seek." Once again, he peered past Lindsay. "I forgot…" His little face looked stricken. Lindsay longed to take him in her arms, as he hugged himself in a lonely quest for comfort. "I forgot to look under the bed. Is she hiding?"

Standing up once more, Lindsay reached out her hand. Jason stared at it warily. "Yes," she said. "I think Roo's hiding, Jason. But I'm afraid she's not under the bed."

"Did you look?"

"Yes, I looked."

"Oh…" He turned away and stared down the corridor, grieving. "I want Roo," he mumbled, so softly that she barely caught the words.

_We'll find her._ How she longed to make that promise. "Look… let me take you back to your mom. She'll be missing you," Lindsay said desperately, hoping she spoke the truth.

"Okay." Resigned, the small boy slipped his hand into hers at last. Lindsay tried to ignore the peculiar, curdling sense of guilt in her stomach as she led him away from the one safe place he knew, in search of his unhappy mother.


	3. Chapter 3

**A SECRET CHORD**

**Chapter Three**

_**Arizona, 1985**_

_The man called Thomas lived by himself in a cool, quiet house full of books and music. Adam was astonished. "Don't you have a mommy or a daddy?" he asked with deep concern, as he stood in the front room and gazed at the great big piano that sat where a family couch ought to be._

_Thomas gave a smile so wide, it almost split his face in half. "I do." He seemed to be telling a joke; one that Adam didn't really understand. "We separated. Irreconcilable differences. In other words, we don't get along," he added plainly when Adam squinted in confusion. "They live in London and I live here. Much better for all concerned, to have an ocean in between us."_

_Adam scratched his dusty hair, deep in thought for a moment. He liked the strange long words that Thomas used. They teased him like a new discovery; begging to be understood._

"_Diff-ren-ces… That means you're not the same."_

_Thomas dropped into a lumpy armchair. Now they were face to face. "Exactly," he said, with a wink. "Not the same at all, and thank goodness for that. I sometimes think I must have been a changeling boy. Switched at birth, you know, by the fairies."_

_That was where he lost Adam. "Fairies aren't real." The statement was bald and emphatic._

"_Who says so?"_

_My daddy. Adam heard the words inside his head, and his lips pressed together. A prickle of fear made him twitch as he came to his senses. What was he doing? He shouldn't be here. When Charlie got back from school, there was going to be so much trouble. Adam began to tremble. He tried to hold onto the contents of his bladder and his cheeks grew red with the effort. A sneaky tear rolled through the dirt on his face and clung to the end of his chin, afraid to let go when it realised how far it had to fall._

"'_M sorry," Adam mumbled. The tear wouldn't let go – but something else had. The shame he felt was unendurable as the tell-tale stream leaked out past his turn-ups and soaked his shoes, sinking into the carpet around him. Adam froze completely and closed his eyes, trying to hide from the anger he knew would be coming…_

"_Hey," said a quiet voice. "Hey, little man. It's okay."_

-x0x-

**New York City, 2005**

Outside the Eggars' apartment block, Danny Messer turned to share an observation with Aiden and found only shadows at his back. It had been weeks since she left, yet her absence was still disconcerting. Full of belligerence, he scowled at the darkness and swallowed his words. Thinking out loud was a poor substitute for the kind of witty brainstorming sessions he used to have with his partner – _ex-_partner, he corrected himself with a twist of his lips. Mac and Lindsay were inside and he was the third wheel; trudging the streets all alone with a flashlight and a coat that was far too thin for the season. Style over substance – not the kind of error in judgement he usually made.

Danny gave a weary sigh. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't seem to get his head on straight these days. Halting, he calmed himself down with a couple of long, slow breaths and tried to work out why that was.

"I'll tell you, okay?" he grumbled to an absent Mac. "Too many changes." The new lab was incredible and the new girl, Montana – well, she was something special too, but that didn't stop Danny feeling like the rug had been whipped out from under him. He missed the warehouse - the slightly out-of-date technology that had made them work so much harder; the overhead pipes; the weird combination of old and new… Everything seemed to have jumped several light years upmarket. Even Sheldon Hawkes, the cheerful, slightly eccentric autopsy guy, had turned into some kind of boy-scout and was eagerly trying to prove himself to the boss. The Crime Lab's centre of gravity had shifted overnight and now the whole world was upside down.

Most of all, though - and at the heart of everything - he missed Aiden like his own body would miss an arm or a leg; still aching for her company and almost believing that she was still there. She hadn't just been his partner. She was a friend.

A series of shouts made his head snap up and he shook himself out of his reverie. _Not cool, Messer, _he thought. Not cool at all_._ A girl's life was on the line and he was _wallowing_, for pity's sake. In the distance, a circle of lights contracted as the searching officers came together. Clearly, they had found something. Taking note of a broken fence post as a marker, Danny left his current spot and ran towards the swirling beams, his pounding heart keeping time with his urgent footsteps. _Please God, no,_ he prayed as he ran. But the cops, when he reached them, were chattering freely and one or two had already turned away. A body – especially the body of a young girl – would have invoked their respect and a sense of bitter desolation, clothed in silence. Danny had seen it before, many times.

Something else, then.

He heard the woman long before he saw her, hidden as she was by the burly officers. In no uncertain terms, she was berating them all for their rude behaviour. Danny felt a tiny smile tug at his lips.

"Think you _men _would like it if a pack o' strangers burst into _your_ bedroom, flashin' those lights in your face an' actin' like some kinda space invasion?" the husky voice demanded, full of righteous indignation. "I ain't no supermodel type, but I need my beauty sleep, same as the rest of those girls."

"Ain't that the truth?" snickered one young officer, thinking he was safe, tucked away behind the others. Danny favoured him with a look of pure disgust, as he finally caught a glimpse of the angry figure that went with the voice.

It was hard to distinguish the woman's age, bundled as she was in layer after layer of ugly, stain-stiffened clothing. The smell that rose from her was foul yet, kindly, he ignored it as he pushed his way through to her side and smiled down at her. She barely came to his shoulder, but he chose to treat her as though she were six feet tall and dressed in the best that Fifth Avenue had to offer. "Sorry about that," he told her. "We meant no harm."

"Says you," the woman sniffed. Now that Danny was close, he could see that her skin, beneath the dirt, was smooth and her eyes were bright. Young, then. In the alley, stacked between two dumpsters, was her makeshift 'bedroom'. New York City was struggling to cope with the rising number of homeless people on the streets. Shelters were stretched far beyond their means and the overspill was alarming. This woman, strong as she appeared to be, was still a bleak reminder of the blind spots in the system; the cracks through which people could fall.

"It's the truth," Danny said. "We're lookin' for a girl, that's all. She went missin' tonight, and I'm wonderin' now if you saw something – maybe a scuffle?" He flashed a winning smile in her direction, channelling Don Flack's charm as he tried to schmooze her into helping them. The young woman frowned – and then giggled. Her teeth were straight but yellow.

"You're a devil," she accused him. "Sweet words and a crooked smile… Okay, you got me." Danny waited eagerly as she paused for effect, enjoying her chance to hold court in front of New York's finest. "Scuffle, you say. That ain't what _I'd_ call it."

"Then you saw her," one of the officers interrupted. She silenced him with a glare.

"Big Sister? Yeah, I saw her, creepin' like a mouse. Angry Man, he came right after her and he was demon-mad, I can tell you." The young woman shook her head. For a split second, Danny saw the flutter of an old fear in her eyes. "Worst I've ever seen him. Those kids – I pity them. He tried to take her back home but she fought him."

"Who won?" Danny asked, releasing his pent-up breath in an urgent question.

"Can't say exactly how it went down. Angry Man dragged her into the shadows. Next thing I know, she's tearin' off down the street like she was on fire and aimin' for water. That's when she got in the car – and they left."

"Say what?" Danny's jaw dropped. "Ruth got into a _car_?"

"Ain't that just what I've been tellin' you?" Smugly, the young woman pointed. "Right over there. The way those tyres squealed, you can bet they left a mark. Go an' look, if you don't believe me…"

"Thank you," he said. "Thank you _very_ much."

"_Now_ can I go back to sleep?" she called out as Danny turned to leave. He chuckled softly.

"Sorry – no can do. You're a witness. Means you need to make a proper statement." Catching her gaze with a knowing grin, he continued. "Down at the precinct where it's nice and warm, and the coffee is way better than you'd expect for a humble cop-shop. They've got donuts, too… Think you can handle that?"

"Sneaky," the woman accused him. Then she laughed out loud, and nodded. "Flash me that smile again, mister, and I'll do anythin' you say…"

-x0x-

Lindsay and Jason walked down the hallway in silence, hand in hand. Just as the boy had described, she could hear muffled sobs coming from the kitchen. He heard them too and, when she looked down, she saw his huge eyes staring up at her in trepidation. _I don't want to…_

"I'll go first," she offered. "Wait here, okay, just behind me."

Pushing the door open, Lindsay stepped through. With the simple logic of a five year old, Jason followed her instructions word for word and pressed against her, safe in her shadow and out of sight.

Two women looked up as she entered. The female officer was doing her best to comfort Mrs Eggar, who had collapsed on a stool and was shaking visibly, her thin hands masking her face. Her robe was pale and threadbare, and her hair – bleached so often that it was lifeless – hung down her back in a tight braid.

Lindsay flashed her ID over Mrs Eggar's head. _Help me,_ the officer mouthed in return. Clearly, she had reached the limits of her patience, not to mention her counselling skills.

Lindsay nodded, very aware of Jason at her back. "Mrs Eggar?" she said quietly. When there was no response, she tried again, in a firm voice this time. "Mrs Eggar, you need to calm down. You're scaring your son."

"What… Jason?" Mrs Eggar raised a pair of eyes so red, they looked as though she had rubbed them raw with the salt from her own tears.

Jason was clutching Lindsay's jacket by now with his little fist. She could feel it tugging. "Yes," she said. "He's here with me. He needs you, Mrs Eggar."

The thin woman gave a dry sob. "I… I'm so sorry. Ruth!" she blurted out hopelessly, calling for her absent daughter. "What have I done?"

"We'll find her, Lauren," the officer said with false conviction. Lindsay questioned the wisdom of her words but not her intent, which was solely to comfort.

Jason peeped around her waist and, when his mother saw him, she spread her arms for a brittle hug. He stumbled towards her and they clung to one another at last. "Sorry, Jay-jay," Lauren whispered into his hair. "Mommy's sorry…"

Moving closer, Lindsay kept her voice gentle. "Mrs Eggar – do you know why Ruth left? Can you tell us anything at all that might help us?"

_Yes,_ said the red-rimmed eyes, but: "No," said the frightened woman. Behind her, the officer shook her head in disbelief but Lindsay thought she understood. A life lived in fear was a life no better than a prison sentence - and who had the right to pass judgement on Lauren Eggar if they hadn't spent one sorry day in her shoes?

"It's okay," Lindsay said at last, placing her hand on the woman's trembling shoulder. "You're safe now. And we'll do everything in our power to try and find your daughter." She locked eyes with Jason and willed him to understand the limitations of her promise. "Hold on to your mom," she whispered softly and the brave little boy gave a tiny nod of understanding far beyond his years.

-x0x-

**A/N: An early update! Thank you so much for the lovely reviews and your follows/favourites too. I'm glad you like the story so far!**

**If you're wondering when our favourite lab tech will make an appearance in the New York strand, watch out for the next instalment, coming soon…**


	4. Chapter 4

**A SECRET CHORD**

**Chapter Four**

_**Arizona, 1985**_

_At school, when Adam embarrassed himself, he was marched to a cubicle and made to change into Nobody's clothes; the ugly, weird-smelling spare items held in the office for just such a crime. Everyone saw them and everyone knew them._

_Thomas had no such clothes._

_He did have an old rugby top and some shorts with a drawstring, and a pair of thick red socks. This was the colourful bundle he thrust into Adam's arms, swooping him into the bathroom and closing the door between them to give the young boy some privacy in his endeavour._

_Adam stood on the wrinkled bathmat, curling his toes inside his wet sneakers and wondering what had just happened, exactly. Was he in trouble or not?_

"_Bring your own clothes out here when you're ready," Thomas told him through the door. "We can dry them in front of the fire, no problem. If you want a towel I've got some old ones in the cupboard… oh wait, you can't reach it…" The cultured voice began to show signs of cracking. Was he nervous? Adam didn't understand at all._

"_I'm okay," he said awkwardly. "I can do it. Thank you…"_

_Outside the door, he heard the shuffle of uncertain footsteps, followed by the sound of Thomas moving away. The tall man was muttering to himself but most of the words were indistinct. Adam only caught a few. 'Com-pro-mising po-sition' meant nothing to him, but 'stupid'? That one, he knew - and now he had his answer. _

_Thomas was angry._

_Adam sank to the floor, still clutching his bundle, too wrung out to cry any more. He tried to get undressed but it was difficult. Everything stuck to him, making him feel sick until he was able to wrench himself free; first one sock and then the other, followed by his torn, wet jeans. Exhausted by the effort, he sat on the mat for a while with his bare legs splayed out in front of him. His gaze fell on the shorts, lying next to the pile of abandoned clothing – and suddenly he realised that he had a whole new problem. Closing his eyes, he pulled his knees up to his chest and let out a tiny whimper._

_Maybe, if he was really quiet, he could hide in the bathroom all day and people would forget about him..._

_All at once, Adam heard a new sound, drifting up the stairs from the room below. Music like magic; the voice of the piano._

_-x0x-_

**New York City, 2005**

"Trace Lab," said the cheerful young man, whose name was Zack… something. This was Zack's final week on the job before moving to the private sector and, by some unknown miracle, Adam Ross, former grad student and full-time geek, had become his stunned replacement. Waving an airy hand as he strode down the corridor, Zack continued the whirlwind tour. "Layout room. Bullpen – that's Detective Bonasera, by the way. If she likes you, she'll let you call her Stella."

"Does she… with you?" Adam ventured, snatching at the words. His legs were shorter than Zack's and he was finding it hard to keep up.

Zack looked smug, but his grin was shifty around the edges. "Yes, she does." He crossed his fingers in a demonstration; Zack and Stella, thick as thieves. "Give 'em what they need _before _they need it and they'll remember you. That's my number one piece of advice."

Actually, it was the third 'number one' that morning, holding the top spot along with 'be on time' and 'watch out for Mac; he sneaks up on you'. Zack was a willing guide but he didn't wait around long enough to check that the newbie was still with him – in person _or_ in comprehension. Adam's brain was stuffed with so much garbled information that he began to fear for his sanity.

"Okay," he nodded breathlessly, ticking off the list of names on his hand. "Trace. Layout. Bullpen. Stella Bonasera…" Would he ever remember it all? Over his shoulder and out of Zack's sight, he stole a second glance at the curly-haired detective. Even with her head bowed over her desk, she was striking; just the kind of woman who would probably send him into stammering fits whenever he tried to talk to her. Not the most encouraging observation. Was it crazy to wish that the rest of his colleagues would turn out to be unremarkable like him? Adam had put on his best 'grown up' shirt today in honour of his new job but that only made him feel like an actor playing a part - 'Adam the Criminalist', mature and responsible. Underneath the bold shirt, he was shaking. This was the Big League – and was he really ready for it?

_Yes,_ he told himself vehemently. _You're every bit as good as the rest of them, okay? All you have to do is pay attention and not Screw This Up. Detective Taylor hired you for a reason._

Stella left her desk and swept past them on her way to somewhere urgent, judging by her stride. She favoured Zack with a quick smile and tagged a bright one on the end for Adam, much to his surprise. "Hello."

"Oh! Um, hi… Hello…" Adam fumbled with the greeting, ducking his head, so that Stella was already halfway down the corridor by the time he noticed she had gone. _Smooth, Adam. Very smooth,_ he sighed. Zack pretended not to notice, which raised him up several notches in Adam's estimation.

Doubling back on themselves, they finished the tour at the AV Lab. Adam peered through the glass with mounting excitement; a kid in a candy store with a pocket full of coins at last. Zack laughed out loud.

"No prizes for guessing your speciality. Come on, then; let's take a look inside." He led the way, still talking. "Me, I like things small. I could take a speck of dust and tell you what it's made of; where it comes from…. What it had for breakfast…" The joke was bad but this time, the laughter was inclusive. Adam joined in.

"Enjoying yourselves?" said a wry voice behind them.

Spinning in shock, Adam found himself face to face with the Big Cheese – the Boss Man; Mac Taylor, Head of the New York Crime Lab.

Zack wasn't kidding, then. This guy had serious ninja skills when it came to sneaking up on people.

"Yes. I mean, no…" he mumbled, trapped by Taylor's level gaze. "I was just…"

"Getting the ten cent tour," Zack finished for him, much to his relief. "What do you need, Detective Taylor?"

_Ah, _said the rational part of Adam's brain, barely functioning right now but still able to spot that not even Zack the Bold would dare to play fast and loose with the name of _this_ CSI. 'Detective', not 'Mac'. Duly noted.

"What I could do with," Taylor said cryptically, much to their surprise, "is a thirteen year old girl to help me out."

"Not many of those around here," Adam giggled, and then wished he hadn't.

"Observant," his new boss agreed, with a mild expression on his face that Adam simply could not read. "Here's another observation. I seem to have two lab techs at a loose end this morning. Which of you is going to volunteer?"

"Newbie," Zack said at once, and backed off smartly with his hands up. There was a grin on his face, however, which Adam took to be an encouraging sign. At least, he hoped it was.

"No problem, sir," he said brightly. "I'm your 'girl'. I mean…" What _did_ he mean? His mind went blank as the Boss Man raised his eyebrows.

_One week, _Adam decided, flinching. That was how long he gave himself. One week before they came to their senses and kicked him out.

"This way," the Boss Man said, turning to leave without any further explanation. Adam shared a humorous look of dismay with Zack before scurrying after him.

One week – if he was lucky.

-x0x-

Mac Taylor had witnessed many variations on the theme of first-day nerves but even he had to admit that this Adam Ross had it down to an art form. Following close behind him, the young man kept up a rapid stream of inane conversation, barely drawing breath, his blue eyes bright and his high voice eager. Mac tuned it out for the most part, nodding now and then, his mind fixed on other things. It had been a long night and he was weary. Two brief hours on the couch in his new office hadn't done much for his mood, which was tense to say the least. Ruth Eggar was still missing and sleep was the least of his worries until they found her.

Entering Reconstruction, Mac was startled to witness a sudden and complete change in Adam's behaviour. The jumble of words died away on the young man's lips and he crossed his hands in front of him, waiting for Mac to speak instead. His face was attentive and his posture was relaxed.

_There _was the person he hired. _Thank goodness,_ Mac thought, smiling at Adam, who smiled back happily.

"So," the young tech said, "what's the plan?"

Mac gestured to a life-size dummy standing next to a soft mat, the kind that gymnasts used in their routines. Nearby, Paul Eggar's blood-stained pyjamas were being modelled by a second figure. To his own surprise, Mac gained a certain amount of wicked pleasure from watching the flow of Adam's thoughts on his open face. The man was quick and it didn't take him long.

"Um, sir?" he ventured warily. "I don't really think I'm the right…"

"Can you fight?" Mac asked. "Do you have any training?"

"No," Adam said, looking worried.

"Good," Mac told him with a knowing grin. "That's exactly what I need."

"Okay…" Though he seemed dubious, Adam held his nerve. "So then, I'm a thirteen year old girl. And _this_ is…?" He gestured to the dummy.

"Paul Eggar. Your father."

Adam fell silent for a moment. Then he glanced at Mac and his face was full of pity. "What did he do?" the young man asked softly.

"Believe it or not, according to our suspect, it was a two-way struggle that Ruth won. I need to find out how much of Eggar's statement is the truth and how much is…"

"Phooey?" Adam suggested. "Sir," he added, quickly.

"You don't have to…" _Call me sir,_ Mac finished in his head. He had said as much to Lindsay when she started. Why did it feel so different, coming from this man? Changing the subject, he strode across to the nearby evidence bench and picked up the transcript of Eggar's official statement, made to Don Flack an hour ago while Mac was sleeping – no, make that _trying_ to sleep.

"Follow me," he said to Adam and they approached the dummies together. Taking Mac's direction, 'Ruth' stood on the mat in front of 'her' opponent, who was dressed in a pair of pyjamas that closely matched Eggar's own. The dummy was tall and leaned forwards in a menacing way, made even more disconcerting by the fact that it had no face.

"Hi, Dad," Adam muttered, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

Mac stood beside the dummy. "First," he said, "Eggar ran after Ruth and grabbed her, swinging her round. That much, we know from a witness as well." He reached out and circled Adam's wrist gently with his own hand, acting on the dummy's behalf. Adam stiffened but said nothing, waiting for his next instruction. "Ruth scratched her father's face, left side."

"Like this?" Adam lifted his free hand and raked his nails along the dummy's soft cheek.

"Exactly. The marks are there, and I swabbed them at the scene. Blood from his face ran down to his collar." Mac pointed to the corresponding marks on the nearby pyjama top. Once again, Adam waited silently. "Eggar dragged Ruth into the shadows…" Mac tugged on Adam's wrist. "Then, according to him, she scratched him again for no reason. Right side, this time." Dutifully, Adam obeyed. "Trouble is," Mac continued – and now his face became grim - "Eggar's knuckles are covered in blood. There was also a strand of hair caught in his wedding ring; not peroxide blonde like his wife, but dark like his children. Like Ruth." With a careful, sweeping movement, Mac sent his fists towards Adam – one, two. Instinctively, the young man tried to duck but the second gentle blow still brushed his skull; the shadow of a threat.

"Oh!" he cried out, and then tried to tone his reaction down. "I see – yes, you're right; that'd do it. Can you match the hair and the blood to Ruth?"

Mac stepped back a little to give him some breathing space. "We have her toothbrush. Think you can handle that yourself when we're done here?"

"Yes, of course." Adam straightened, composing himself. "So, what happened next?" he asked curiously.

"That's what I want to work out." Mac gestured to the pyjamas again; in particular, a random smear of dirt on the lower leg. "Eggar clammed up at this point and refused to go into detail - either he's embarrassed or he's hiding something worse than defeat. I have an idea but I need to match this mark. Hand me those shoes from the bench." He was gratified by the fact that Adam obeyed straight away. With a gleam in his eye, Mac picked up a bottle and sprayed red dye all over the soles and the sides. "Now put them on. I'd say they're about your size."

"Very nice." Adam grinned as he took them, and removed his own footwear. "New job; new shoes. Not really my style, but thanks, boss…" Leaving the laces open and tucking the ends out of sight, he managed to squeeze his feet inside the generic sneakers while Mac laid down a plastic sheet to protect the mat. When he was ready, Adam bent to study the mark on Eggar's clothing. "I think I see where you're going with this. Can I…?"

"Be my guest." Mac watched him closely as he stepped up to the dummy again. "Okay now; you're Ruth." Dutifully, Adam clutched his head where Mac had 'punched' him. "Your dad is bigger than you and you have to get away. What do you do?"

For a moment, Adam hesitated, frozen in front of his faceless 'attacker'. Then, all of a sudden, his right foot flew out and hooked itself around the dummy's left leg. Twisting hard, and shoving 'Eggar's' upper body at the same time, he toppled the figure and leapt out of the way as it fell with a thump on the plastic sheet. Ungainly, but effective.

Stunned by his own action, Adam stared down at 'Eggar' and his chest was heaving rapidly. "Did I do it right?" he gasped. "It's just… I thought… Gravity, you know? The bigger they are…"

"The harder they fall." Mac spun the two dummies round, both the fallen 'Eggar' and the standing one, and compared the marks, which were almost identical. "Good job," he told Adam. "Eggar isn't off the hook – but Ruth really did win the fight."

"And then she ran," Adam guessed. "But where did she go?"

Mac wished with all his heart that he could answer.

-x0x-

**A/N: ****Thanks for your kind reviews – your comments have been so helpful and encouraging, they really make my day. Thank you to Farmgirl as well, for her reassurance when I was worrying about this chapter! Hope you all enjoyed it. More soon…**


	5. Chapter 5

**A SECRET CHORD**

**Chapter Five**

_**Arizona, 1985**_

_Thomas closed his eyes and swayed in sympathy with the flow of his hands. The music reached inside him, twisting his heart as it always did. This piece in particular – Chopin's Etude in E – was a swelling, passionate affair that grew from a slow beginning, through a plaintive melody, to a range of powerful, crashing chords that almost ripped a cry from his throat, they moved him so deeply._

_Sitting down at the piano, he had never intended to play. It was simply his favourite place in the house; his comfort zone. But then, as his thoughts continued to turn in an endless circle of actions and consequences, his long fingers strayed to the keys and, all at once, he was playing like a man possessed, heedless of the child upstairs or anything else around him._

_When, at last, the music slowed, he lifted his head and tears were in his eyes._

"_You're crying," a soft voice declared from the doorway behind him._

_Startled, Thomas froze and the last notes hung in the air; a broken piece of music robbed of its ending. "Adam," he said. "I… I'm not."_

"_It's okay," the boy said. "Grown-ups aren't s'posed to cry; I know. But they do - I've seen 'em." He rubbed his own eyes surreptitiously. "I like the music." There was a tension to his whole body as he stood there, poised, with the guilty air of a mouse caught out in the open._

"_You do?" Thomas longed to beckon him closer but he knew that it would be better to let Adam make all the moves right now. Trust was a thing to be earned, not a trick to be mastered._

_Adam nodded. "It's like… you were talking with your hands," he tried to explain. His expression was earnest and he shuffled forwards, first one foot and then the other. _

_Thomas smiled to see the bright red socks pulled up so high, and the shorts, which hung so low. The boy looked comical – and yet, he told himself, it wasn't funny. "Yes," he answered, thoughtfully. "I was, in a way. I play that piece of music whenever I don't know how to say what I feel. Do you know what I mean?"_

"_That happens to you?" Adam stared at the piano, intrigued. "Me too," he confessed, after a moment, peering sideways at Thomas. "I can't… I can't get the words out sometimes. Mrs Roberts…" He paused, and bit his lip, clearly reluctant to finish the thought._

"_Mrs Roberts?" Thomas encouraged him gently. "What – your teacher?"_

_Adam's expression was pained. "She doesn't wait. For me, I mean. When I'm trying to say things. She just snorts – like this." He demonstrated and Thomas chuckled._

"_Sounds like a charming woman."_

"_Charming." Adam considered the word. "Like a prince? I… I don't think so…" He shrugged his shoulders and a tiny smile made his lips curl. "She's ugly," he giggled suddenly. "You know, with long grey hair and a big nose? Charlie says she's a witch, but I think she's just mean. I hate her." He paused and shot Thomas a frank, open look that surprised him. "Is that bad?"_

"_More her fault than yours, I'd say."_

"_Okay…" The boy slithered closer to the piano and reached out to press the very last key. A high note leapt into the air, and he giggled again, pressing harder; plink, plink, PLINK…_

"_Want to hear something else?" Thomas asked him quietly._

_The finger lifted and the note flew away like a startled bird. Standing back and squeezing his hands together in anticipation, Adam nodded._

-x0x-

**New York City, 2005**

Don Flack studied his reflection in the rear-view mirror and sighed. Not good. Not good at all. He looked and felt like the ragged end of a night on the town – pale skin, bloodshot eyes and a nasty taste in his mouth that refused to go away. That 'taste' was Paul Eggar. Don's skin was still crawling from the interview and it was a testament to his own resistance under pressure that he had kept his fist from introducing itself to the man's lying face. In the end, the hard-won statement was less than useless – a jumble of misinformation that led them nowhere. Eggar's number one priority was Eggar himself, not the safe return of his daughter, no matter how much noise he made on the subject.

Combing his hair with his fingers, Don made the best of a bad job and plastered a look of cheerful determination over the top of his weary features. He could see the cracks, but hopefully no one else would notice. _Got my game face on,_ he thought with a wry grin.

A steaming cup of coffee rested on the dashboard – his third already that morning. He snatched it up and tossed it back with a turbulent gulp, like a shot of whisky, gasping as it hit the back of his throat. "Caffeine, do your thing," he urged, just as soon as he was able to speak again. Heat bore down through his core, driving out the chill brought on by tiredness and the churning of his gut.

He blamed Eggar for that, too.

Opening the car door, Don narrowly avoided striking a trio of schoolgirls, who leapt aside and giggled at his clumsiness. "Sorry," he told them, climbing out and flashing his badge for good measure. "You okay?"

They giggled again; a group response. Don tried a different tack. "Hey – I need to find the principal's office. Mr. Blayne. You think you could help me?"

"Main door, second on the left," said the boldest girl, flicking her long braid over her shoulder. How did she manage to make such a simple gesture seem so derogatory? "There's a sign, yeah? Says 'Principal Blayne'."

"Thanks _so_ much," Don said, oozing sarcasm. "Maybe while I'm there, I'll let him know how impressed I am with the manners of his pupils, Miss…"

"Don't give him your name, okay, Mel…" Too late, the second girl raised her hand to her mouth in a vain attempt to hide her mistake.

"That's just great, Bekka; thanks. I mean, really; super smart, _great_ job. You eat a bowl of 'stupid' for breakfast or something?" Mel scowled and turned on her sharp heel, leading her posse away through the main gate. Bekka walked behind the other two girls, her head low. Don followed, holding his tongue and keeping his distance.

_Just remember why you're here,_ he told himself firmly. School. No way he missed it.

Stepping up to the principal's office had an equally disconcerting effect. For one jarring moment he was little Donnie Flack again, all knobbly knees and attitude, with a posse of his own and a flair for getting into trouble – not to mention charming his way out of it…

A mild voice dragged him back to the present. "Come."

Mr. Blayne was waiting for him on the other side of the door. He had a pale, unremarkable face and a damp hand, which Don discovered to his own cost when it fluttered towards him in welcome. Keeping his grip loose, the detective shook it lightly and resisted the urge to scrub his palm on his jacket once he was done.

"Mr. Blayne, I'm…."

"Detective Flack; yes, I know. My secretary informed me of your imminent arrival. Such a dreadful affair – poor child. Of course, we'll help the police in any way we can. Greenoak pupils know their duty."

_Oh, really,_ Don thought, but he didn't say it. "I'll need to speak to anyone that knows Ruth well. What kind of student is she?"

Was it his imagination or did Blayne's eyes glaze over? "Excellent. Truly excellent; no doubt about it. This school takes great pride in its high standard of academic achievement…."

Don knew the beginning of a well-rehearsed speech when he heard it. "Mr. Blayne, I'm no parent. Get to the point, please."

The principal's back stiffened. "Very well. What I'm _trying_ to explain is that Rachel was a credit to the school."

"Is," Don told him sharply.

"I beg your pardon?"

"_Is_ a credit. _Ruth_ Eggar. I take it you mean she's smart."

"Oh, yes." Mr. Blayne gave a cold, possessive smile that made Don's skin crawl. "Top of her class since she came here. The girl was…_ is_ a natural scholar. Quite remarkable."

"Okay. Bright girl; good for the school and all – I get it. What about friends?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Who does she hang with? Who's her BFF? Does she have a boyfriend?" Don's irritation with the vacuous little man was growing.

"Really, Detective; you can't expect me to know such things," Blayne protested. "There are over three hundred children in this school. Their little cliques and romances are none of my concern – I'm the principal, not a guidance counsellor." He shook his head in mild regret at Flack's evident stupidity.

"Then please, by all means," Don said tightly, "find me someone who _does_ know Ruth – as a person, not a bunch of test scores. _If _it's not too much trouble…"

"No trouble at all." Blayne reached out and pressed a button on his phone. _See how easy this is,_ his calm expression said. "Ms. Brahimi. Join us, if you please?"

-x0x-

"I know what you're thinking," Ms. Brahimi said, her sensible heels squeaking as she led Don through a maze of corridors. School had started by now, and there was a hum at the edge of his hearing which rose and fell every time he passed a door. "Man's a fool. You want to know anything worth knowing about Greenoak, don't ask _him_, for pity's sake. Let's face it, even the janitor knows more than he does. He's the figurehead – the public face - but we're the ones who keep this place afloat."

"I believe you," Don said, recognising the need for a response but feeling a little uncomfortable, all the same, at such a cheerful character assassination.

"In this particular case, I'd say the person you need is Mrs Gill. She knows Ruthie better than anyone and they seem to get on pretty well, all told. She can give you… what is it you policemen call it? The low-down." Ms. Brahimi gave a decisive nod as they reached the end of yet another corridor. "If you'd like to wait in here…"

She opened a grey door and waved her arm, ushering Don inside before he had time to read the nameplate. Then she turned on her heels and marched away. Sitting down on top of an empty desk, Don scanned the walls idly until his eyes came to rest on a hand-made poster. 'The Rules of Detention'…

"Great," he muttered, trying to ignore little Donnie Flack, who was tugging at his memory again. "That's just great." No way was Danny Messer _ever_ going to hear about this. Or anyone else, for that matter.

He may have had strong reservations about Ms. Brahimi's sense of humour but he couldn't deny her efficiency. Less than five minutes had passed before she returned with a young and earnest-looking teacher in her wake.

"Jennifer Gill," she announced as she swept the woman into the room. Then she shut the door – stationing herself on the other side, no doubt, with one ear pressed against the panel. Don shook his head at the thought, and then dismissed it.

"My name's Detective Flack," he offered, standing up and holding out his hand with a little more enthusiasm this time. Mrs Gill didn't look like the sort of person who would have sweaty palms. She simply looked… nice.

Moving closer, she shook hands nervously and then laced her fingers together, trying to hide the fact that they were shaking. "I can't believe it," she said in a low voice, staring directly at him. "This is all my fault."

_Okay…_ "How so?" Don asked the young woman, watching her response with a keen eye.

"Because," she sighed regretfully. He recognised that sigh, and all at once, he thought he understood. "I knew, Detective. I knew that something was wrong. She was just too calm – not a glimmer of emotion, you know? Like a mask. I was scared to think what might be hiding underneath. Have you met her father?" she added.

"Yes," Don said, with force.

"Exactly." Mrs Gill winced. "I could never be certain, you see, but I suspected… I tried to gain her trust, little by little. I thought I had time…" Her voice cracked and she turned her face away. "How could I have been so stupid?" A lone tear spilled from the corner of her eye and trickled down her cheek. Don moved forward and then halted. He didn't know this woman, but he felt her pain.

"Hey," he said. "Not your fault, okay? You tried to help Ruth – that's a good thing - and you can help her now by telling me everything you know about her." He gave a wry grin. "Your boss tells me she's a brainiac. All well and good, but I want to know more. Does she have any close friends?"

"No - not one, as far as I could tell. She keeps the whole world at a distance."

"Then no boyfriend either, I take it? What about enemies? I mean… I know how kids can be. I remember…" Don winced. Most of his problems back in junior high had been the direct result of his over-protective instinct. Bullies, he hated to this day. Meanness made his blood boil. Little Donnie Flack had walked the halls with all of the detective's passion and none of his restraint. Conflict was inevitable – and frequent. Strangely, his dad had been proud - if not of the fights, at least of his righteous indignation. In the end, it was his mom who taught him the maxim 'look before you leap'. Sometimes he remembered. Sometimes, he chose not to…

Mrs Gill gave a sigh and a watery smile that hinted at painful memories of her own. "No. No enemies. She just… puts her head down and gets on with things, you know? I mean, she _did_…" Swallowing, the teacher tried to focus. "Actually, you could try talking to the girl who sits next to her in class. Probably the closest thing to a friendship that _I've_ seen."

"Oh, I'd say Ruth has a friend alright." Don gave a reassuring smile. "Who's this girl?"

"Rebecca Stiles. I could also show you some of Ruth's stories, if you think it might help? When I read them myself… that's what made me wonder…" Mrs Gill bit her lip. "They're rather strange, you see."

"Thank you," Don's nod was full of encouragement. He was eager to take a peek at the inner workings of Ruth's mind – this clever, self-contained girl who was such an enigma. "That'd be great."

-x0x-

As soon as he caught sight of Rebecca's sullen face, Don knew that this interview was going to be more of a struggle. Like a reluctant witness back at the precinct, she sidled into the room behind the returning teacher, who held out a handful of notebooks. "These are for you," Mrs Gill said. "All of Ruth's work since she started in my class."

Don took the books gratefully and set them aside. Mrs Gill moved to the back of the room, a silent witness to the ensuing conversation.

That left Rebecca standing on her own, arms folded in a typical teenage defensive posture. Lowering her eyes, she tried to ignore the fact that they recognised each other instantly. What were the odds…? "Hello, Bekka," he said. "I'm Detective Flack. We met…"

"Outside, yeah, I know." Bekka's attitude was shifty, as though she couldn't wait to be out of there.

"I'm sorry – are you worried about something? You're not in trouble," Don reassured her. "Have a seat, okay?"

She obeyed, perching on the very edge. Don took the other side of the desk; the teacher's chair. It made him feel like Mac. He gave a tiny smile and brushed the thought away.

"I don't know anythin'," Bekka warned. "This is a waste of time, alright?"

He could almost hear the lovely Mel directing her words from a distance.

"I just need to know if Ruth ever talked to you about personal stuff. Were you friends at all?"

"No!" The response was emphatic. Don smelled a lie. In the background, Mrs Gill looked startled.

"Are you sure?" the teacher put in urgently.

"'Course I'm sure. I know who my friends are." Unconsciously, Bekka glanced towards the door.

"They can't hear you, you know," Don told her. "This conversation is private."

"And pointless. Really," Bekka said urgently, "I don't know _anythin'_. Sorry." Her eyes were pleading and she pressed her lips together.

"You don't want to help your friend… I mean, your classmate?"

"I can't. I don't… I'm sorry." Shaking her head, she began to rise. "Can I go now?"

Don's resolve turned to steel. His next words were hard and they struck the girl sharply, freezing her in an awkward position, halfway to her feet. Mrs Gill looked horrified, but she held her tongue and did not interrupt.

"Oh, sure; you can go. This isn't about _you_ after all, is it, Rebecca? Or your _friends,_ if you can call 'em that. It's about Ruth – you remember Ruth, right? The girl who sits beside you every day in class. The girl who's disappeared. Her life could be on the line _right now_ and you could be the one with the knowledge to help us save her. But hey, that's okay - don't worry about it, not on her account. And whatever you do, don't let it eat away at you - the fact that you had a chance to do the right thing and you blew it."

Exhausted, Don felt no triumph as he watched her sink back down. Bekka buried her head in her hands. Mrs Gill was on her feet at once, moving over to the girl and putting an arm around her shoulders. _Was that really necessary?_ her stern expression demanded.

Don nodded wearily. Welcome to _his_ world. Scaring this girl half out of her wits to rescue another one – what a hero.

Minutes passed, uncomfortable and tense. Finally, Bekka lifted her head and spoke through her silent tears.

"I knew, okay?" she confessed, and this time it was Don Flack who froze as he hung on every word. "Ruth told me. She said she was going to leave – to run away for good. That she had a friend who'd promised to help her do it. Some guy she'd met – I don't know where." Clutching her hands together, she started to sob for real, turning her words into violent hiccups. "Only, I… I… I'm sorry. I thought she was m-making it up just to shock me and I d-didn't believe her. Not until I got to school today and f-found out she was missing…"

"Thank you," Don said quietly. "That's what I needed to know."

-x0x-

**A/N: Many thanks to everyone who is following this story, and especially to those people who have taken the time to review. I'd also like to thank Farmgirl for her help and advice concerning schools in the US. There's only so much you can learn from Wikipedia. First hand knowledge is always so much better!**

**(PS: As an ex-teacher myself, and someone who still works in childcare, I would like to mention that the characters in this chapter, particularly Mrs Roberts and Mr Blayne, are simply that - fictional characters, designed to help a story move forwards. In no way are they meant to be a representation of the education system as a whole. I'd hate to cause offence where none is intended!)**


	6. Chapter 6

**A SECRET CHORD**

**Chapter Six**

_**Arizona, 1985**_

_Adam ran his fingers along the shiny keys. Thomas had left him to experiment while he dealt with… other things. Those things were a warm fire on an even warmer day and a pile of damp clothes lying on the bathroom floor, but Adam preferred not to think about that. He pushed the incident to the back of his mind, as he always did, and pressed down on a black key this time, liking the solemn note it sang. Deep and low – and kind of sad, Adam thought, as he pressed another key and let the two notes sing together. That was even better, and he shivered with delight. "You're a frog, okay," he told the first note. "An' you're a toad," he continued solemnly, stroking the second key as both sounds faded, one after the other. Pressing the black keys again, he started to count, curious to know exactly how long the notes lasted and if it was the same every time. "One, two, three…"_

"_Enjoying yourself_?"_ Thomas said, coming into the room. "Try putting your foot on one of the pedals."_

_Adam obeyed. The sound altered, softening and swelling even as it faded, like a ringing in his ears. "No," he said quickly, drawing his foot back. "I like the other way."_

"_You're allowed." Thomas shrugged and set down the tray he was carrying. "Hungry yet? I'm thinking carpet picnic."_

_He made it sound perfectly normal, yet Adam had never encountered such a thing. Picnics were for outside; a special treat, where crumbs didn't matter because the bugs would always steal them away and save them for later. Inside, you ate at the table, sitting up straight, and never, ever leaned on your elbows or chewed with your mouth open, or talked about the interesting things that popped into your mind – 'why are carrots orange?', for example, or 'how do fish breathe?'._

"_Carpet picnic," Adam repeated, slipping down from the stool. "Okay…"_

_At school, he realised, his class would be doing math. Adam liked math, but Mrs Roberts didn't. She always rushed through her explanations and then got cross when he tried to ask a question in his halting, nervous way. So Adam stopped asking and tried to work things out for himself instead, tucked away at the back of the class, using his fingers or making pictures in his head. His methods were creative and his work was messy – but his answers were often right. That made him happy._

_Being here, right now, made him happy too._

_Adam stopped to consider that, staring at the overloaded tray of goodies and the wide smile that split the face of his wonderful new friend._

"_You're nice," he said suddenly, wanting Thomas to understand that he was grateful. Adults always tried to convince you that they knew what was right – but sometimes, Adam knew, they were just pretending. Deep down, he guessed, they were just like children; lost in the big world, and frightened._

_Thomas flushed. "I am?" He changed the subject quickly but Adam could see that he was pleased. His eyes were merry as he waved at the tray. "Hey, you like cookies? I have cookies… I made them myself, yesterday, when I was supposed to be working… I'm not much good at baking but it's a fool-proof recipe." He giggled. "Actually, my grandfather calls them 'donkey biscuits'. Never understood why. Maybe it's the oats…" The words rolled on, like dust clouds in a breeze, going nowhere in particular. At last, they died away and Adam guessed that it was his turn to speak now._

"_I like cookies…"he said boldly, answering the question. Thomas had the same problem as he did, it seemed. He talked too much when he was nervous._

"_Good. That's good."_

_Adam sat down cross-legged on the carpet, making sure that his socks were still pulled up right over his knees as he settled himself carefully. Thomas passed him a generous plateful – three cookies, huge and lumpy, with a blackened edge half-hidden beneath a drizzle of chocolate. Maybe 'fool-proof' didn't mean the same in England, Adam decided, eyeing the plate with concern. He tried to remember his manners. "Can I have some milk, please?"_

_Grinning, Thomas poured him a glass from the big white jug that dominated half the tray. "I don't blame you," he admitted. "Dunk them – they'll taste better, I promise."_

_For a while, they sat in happy silence as they dipped and chewed and swallowed the ugly cookies, which were strangely moreish. Slurping was allowed, apparently, and so were drips on his borrowed clothing, not to mention crumbs on the carpet. "I'll get those later," Thomas said, with a wave of his hand. "It's not as if I'm going to get any work done today, after all."_

"_What is your work?" Adam asked, full of interest. He pointed to the piano. "Is it that?"_

_Thomas nodded. "I write music," he admitted, looking a little sheepish. "At least, I pretend to." His chuckle was one of those grown-up sounds that meant they were making some kind of joke about themselves. Adam's brow furrowed as he followed the explanation, trying to make sense of it. "Right now, I'm writing a song cycle. You know what that is?"_

"_Like a bi-cycle?" Adam said hopefully._

_This time, the laugh that burst from Thomas was loud and real. "I like that. I really do. You're a great kid, Adam; did anyone ever tell you that?"_

_He had made Thomas laugh. Adam swelled with pride and a warm feeling tickled his chest. He joined in the laughter even though he couldn't understand what was so funny. At the same time, a new idea was stirring in his head. He felt it growing, and the strength of it scared him because he knew it was a bad thought, even though it seemed so appealing._

_I don't want to leave here… _

-x0x-

**New York City, 2005**

"Secret stash?" Stella asked, with a hint of amusement, walking into the bullpen and halting at the sight of Lindsay's desk; a wasteland of crumbs, scattered files and empty coffee mugs.

Lindsay paused, her hand halfway to the bottom drawer. "_Your _advice," she countered, not really sure why she was feeling so defensive.

Stella's nod was wise. "Power bars. How many have you had this morning?"

"Oh, well… this is my third but I doubt it'll be my last. I'm starving." Lindsay gave a shrug of resignation and pulled out the bar, unwrapping it with haste and cramming it into her mouth. Bliss… "'M thorry," she said indistinctly, around the bulge in her cheek. "You wan' one?"

Holding up her free hand, Stella laughed and shook her head. "No thanks – I'm good. I stopped for a bagel on the way back from court. Cross-examination always gives me a healthy appetite, for some reason. Lindsay, when was the last time you slept?"

Once again, the shrug came in handy. "I don't know… Montana?"

"That better be a joke." Stella set down her own dainty mug of steaming fresh coffee on her immaculate desk. Eyes wide, Lindsay stared at the mug with undisguised longing.

"Oh, I wish it _was_," she sighed with regret, trying to peel her gaze away from the caffeine-loaded treat. "Uncle Freddie's couch has more lumps in it than a sack full of potatoes. Not to mention the fact - well, I think it used to be Grover's bed. That's the dog, not the Muppet," she added, catching Stella's look of bemusement. "He's a labradoodle and he's not that big on sharing. Plus he has bad breath… really, _really_ bad breath." She shuddered.

"You need your own place."

"Yes I do." The reply was heartfelt. "God bless Uncle Freddie, but I do." Crumpling the empty wrapper that was still in her hand, Lindsay tossed it into the wastebasket and made a vague attempt to push her desk into some kind of order. "I'm not usually like this," she pointed out, trying to defend herself even though there was clearly no need.

"And I'm not judging." Stella winked. "You should have seen _my _desk, first few weeks I actually had one. Neat as a pin for about two hours and then all hell broke loose. Paperwork." She gave a theatrical groan. "Bane of my life."

"I don't mind it. Sometimes, it's a challenge in itself, you know? Sealing a case so tight that no one can dispute the evidence or how you collected it. Makes sense." Lindsay spoke with feeling and then realised how she must have sounded to her brand new colleague. "I mean… Stella, I wasn't trying to imply that you…" She swallowed, and the tiredness, the bone-aching _exhaustion _of it all, began to seep through the walls of caffeine and protein and sheer Monroe stubbornness that she had managed to build up.

Stella moved around to stand beside her, not in her personal space but close enough to offer comfort in a quiet voice.

"You're allowed to take a break," she said. "Even on a case like this one."

"No, I can't." Lindsay's cry was low and pained. Jason stood next to Stella, watching with silent eyes.

"Yes," Stella told her. "You can. One hour, right now, in the fresh air – well, as fresh as Broadway has to offer." She gave a bright smile. "Trust me, okay? It's even better than the power bars – it'll keep you sane."

"But Mac…"

"…will understand. And the evidence will wait." Stella waved her hand towards the door and Jason slipped out of sight behind her. "Go."

-x0x-

Coming back, one hour later, Lindsay had to admit that Stella was a genius. She _did_ feel refreshed, and grounded once again in the real world. Hard to feel anything else, when you stepped out into those crowded streets; so vibrant and diverse. So different from Bozeman – Lindsay smiled at the thought – and yet it wasn't the city that threatened to overwhelm her. It was her own feelings, and she could deal with those; she knew she could. Hadn't she done so before? Private battles were the hardest but she hadn't lost one yet, and nor did she intend to – not now, not ever. Lindsay was strong. More importantly than that, she _knew_ it. Knowing was a kind of strength in itself.

In the layout room, she took her time sorting through the potential evidence that she had recovered from the Eggars' apartment. First in her collection were the bed sheets from both rooms – a dreadful thought but one that couldn't be ignored. Her initial sweep at the scene had picked up a variety of stains; far too many to catalogue there and then. Lindsay was determined to be thorough. She wouldn't put anything past Paul Eggar at this point; and _something_ had made the girl run, after all, abandoning her home and her little brother in a desperate bid for freedom. Then there was the laptop and a selection of Ruth's other personal belongings – notebooks, photographs, toothbrush for DNA – together with a t-shirt, ripped and bloody, which Lindsay had found in the deepest, darkest corner of the closet. Even now, the sight of it turned her stomach.

She clenched her fists, willing herself to focus.

Blame could wait. Finding Ruth was still their top priority and even the tiniest handwritten note could become a valuable clue. Setting the other items to one side, Lindsay chose the bundle of notebooks to begin with and laid them out on the light table, hoping to find a journal of some kind. As she did so, a young tech edged into the room, looking curious but wary. His hair was scruffy but his eyes shone with suppressed intelligence and… was that excitement? Lindsay gave him time to gather his thoughts as she concentrated on her task. Sure enough, moments later, he took a deep breath and spoke to her, his voice quick and eager.

"Hey – you're Detective Monroe, right? I mean, you know who you are; that's not what I wanted to… I was just making sure… Okay, let's start again; sorry. I'm Adam Ross. I'm new. Detective Taylor sent me to work alongside you." He smiled, a charming smile that searched for its reflection in her own face. "If that's alright with you?"

"I don't know about that." Lindsay tried to look stern. "Newbie, huh? Are you sure you can cope with a big case like this?"

The man's face fell and he took a step backwards, full of uncertainty. Shaking her head, Lindsay laughed out loud. "Come in, Adam Ross," she told him warmly. "I don't bite; not really. I'm a newbie too and I'd love some help."

"Oh! Okay… joke. I like it." With a sheepish grin, Adam sashayed up to her, clearly hoping that a little style would cover his confusion. He held out his hand politely, but she wiggled her latex-clad fingers.

"Nah-ah," she told him. "Plenty of time for that later. Mac say what he wanted you to do?"

"DNA." Adam's answer was prompt for a change. "Toothbrush. He needs it for a positive match - you know, bloodstains and a strand of hair…"

"Paul Eggar?" Lindsay asked quietly, as the young man's voice tailed away. There was no need to elaborate.

"Paul Eggar," Adam agreed. "You've met him?"

"Yes, I have."

They stared at each other in silence for a moment, lost in their own thoughts but sharing a common expression. When Adam did speak, his words were so quiet that Lindsay wondered if she had even heard them correctly.

"What if Ruth wants to stay lost?"

Before she could press Adam for an explanation, he gave his head a little shake and changed the subject. "Toothbrush?" he said with a lop-sided smile.

"Over there."

He rifled through the bags and pulled out the one he needed. "Want me to run the whole process myself? I can do it… Hey! A laptop."

"No, just take a sample and pass it on to DNA. I need you here. There's a lot to go through." She turned and watched him, noting his fascination with Ruth's computer - and how poorly he tried to hide it. After working through the night with her inscrutable new boss, it was quite a relief to spend time with someone whose open face revealed every thought.

_Almost_ every thought, she told herself, remembering his curious comment.

"You want to take that too?" she offered kindly.

"What? You mean this? Um, the laptop, I mean?" _I'd love to,_ said the light in his eyes and Lindsay felt a surge of warm satisfaction – just as Detective Flack walked through the door and caught them both smiling at each other like a couple of fools.

"Havin' fun?" he said.

"Assigning jobs," Lindsay told him primly, studying his weary posture and wondering if hers was any better. She offered him a wink of sympathy, and he took it, curling his lips in a half-smile. "This is Adam Ross," she added, making the lab tech flush as Flack's direct gaze pinned him to the spot. "He's going to be helping me." She refrained from pointing out that it was the young man's first day. Everyone deserved a little dignity.

"Hey, Ross," Flack said.

"Hey," the lab tech mumbled. All of a sudden, he appeared to be _deeply_ interested in Ruth's little green toothbrush, and turned away to begin his task. Flack gave a wolfish grin and slapped down a new pile of books next to Lindsay's careful row.

"More reading."

"So I see."

"Turns out our friend Ruth likes writin' stories – and they're weird, okay; I mean _really_ weird. I flicked through a couple with her teacher and I have to say, they freaked me out more than just a little. Freaked _her_ out, too - the teacher. Mrs Gill." One eyebrow lifted. "You like stories, Monroe?"

"Freaked her out how?" Lindsay countered smoothly. Flack mingled charm with sarcasm – that was his style and she liked it. Fencing with words was something she enjoyed.

"Read 'em. You'll see what I mean. What is it you scientists say about contents under pressure? Accordin' to her teacher, Ruth bottled everythin' up. Barely spoke to anyone at school; just kept right on working like it was all that mattered. These books may be the only clue to what was really goin' on inside her head."

"And the laptop," said an unexpected voice from the other side of the room. Two heads spun round and Adam froze. The look on his face made Lindsay want to giggle. "You know," he continued, trying to quantify his statement, "'cause we could see what sites she visited, and what games she played, and if there's any stories on here too… maybe… You want it back?" His offer was reluctant. "I could work on something else…"

"Why?" Lindsay was blunt and it shocked him, she could tell. Flack kept silent, following the conversation with interest.

"Well… because it's important."

"Can you do it?"

"Oh, yes." This time, and for the first time since she had met him, there was absolute conviction in Adam's voice.

"In this lab," Lindsay said carefully, "it doesn't matter how new you are. What matters is the evidence, and doing your job. Mac told me that on my first day and it's pretty good advice. The laptop is your evidence now. Your job is to help find Ruth Eggar. Got it?"

"Got it. Thanks." Adam tried to look serious but a tiny smile was dancing on his lips as he ducked his head and went back to the toothbrush.

"Great pep talk," Flack murmured.

"Just spreading the wisdom." Lindsay picked up one of Ruth's school books and let it fall open. Handwriting covered the random page, dark and sprawling. An image came to her, of an urgent pen moving quickly across the lines; the link between hand and mind so strong that it was more of a compulsion than a thought process. "What else did the teacher say?" she asked.

Flack explained about Bekka and her reluctant confession. "I think Ruth's been plannin' this for a long time. Ask me, what we need to do is find this mystery friend who's been helpin' her. Any names in those books, or on that laptop, you run 'em down, okay?" He sighed. "I got a really bad feelin' this ain't no Good Samaritan…"

His stark words echoed the fear that was churning in Lindsay's gut as well.

"We'll find her, Flack," she said - and once more, she felt the shudder of Jason's eyes upon her.


	7. Chapter 7

**A SECRET CHORD**

**Chapter Seven**

_**Arizona, 1985**_

_When the school bus returned that afternoon, Adam thought about locking himself in the bathroom. But doors, he knew, could be opened – even locked ones – and so he turned his face to Thomas with a blank look that had nothing to do with the man in front of him and everything to do with the world outside. "I have to go now," he said._

"_Yes," his new friend agreed. "You do." There was a long pause. Adam could see that Thomas was thinking and the thoughts were difficult, like a really hard sum that made you screw up your face and frown until you found the right answer. When you did, though, everything felt better. "Look," Thomas told him at last, with a hopeful smile, "come back, okay? Whenever you need… whenever you want." Something else was hidden behind his words. Adam wasn't sure but he thought he understood what Thomas was offering and he caught his breath. A safe place. He had a safe place, and a friend to help him._

_His own clothes smelled bad but they were dry. Putting them on felt like the end of everything good – but now Adam had this new hope to cling to. He dropped the borrowed items on the bathroom floor and stared at them. So bright. So funny. Picking up one of the red socks, he crammed it deep into his pocket; quickly, so his conscience wouldn't see what he was doing. Then he covered the tell-tale lump with his t-shirt. If he couldn't make it back… Well, at least he could remember. Sandwiches at the kitchen table, inventing crazy fillings from a wonderful selection – peanut butter and jelly beans; chocolate and bananas; cheese and chips. Playing games in the afternoon – Thomas had taught him chess and Adam had fallen in love with the tiny characters, each one such an important part of the whole. Thomas liked the knight, he said, because it was un-pre-dictable, but Adam's favourite piece was the pawn, which could be anything at all, if only it could reach the other side of the board._

_Climbing slowly down the narrow stairs, Adam found Thomas waiting by the front door. They stared at each other, suddenly shy, as they had been at the beginning. "Thank you," Adam whispered, but the words weren't strong enough and so he tried again. "Thank you very much, Mister Thomas. I… I'll come back."_

"_Only if you want to," Thomas said softly._

_Adam bit his bottom lip. "I want to, e-nor-mously," he confessed. "It's been the best day - really." And he bolted through the door, before his fine new friend could see the shameful tears that were running down his cheeks._

_Halfway home, he encountered Charlie, who was walking slowly, dragging his feet along the road. "Where've you been?" his brother demanded. Was that anger or relief in his voice? Adam hung back, screwing up his eyes against the hot, bright sun that burned around his brother like a halo. Charlie's face was impossible to see._

"_I thought… I stayed away, okay? They'll think I was at school – and you're not telling!" Adam said fiercely. Now it was Charlie's turn to be confused._

"_Why would I? Talk about dumb. We'd both catch it for that, and I've done nothin' wrong." He shrugged. "Teacher thinks you were sick again. That's what I told her and she looked happy. Bet she had a real good day without you stinking out her classroom."_

"_Liar," Adam breathed, but the words were already making a home in his head; burrowing quickly, like worms in the dirt. He took a step back. Charlie followed, sniffing the air._

"_I don't think so," he said plainly. "You're disgusting. Walk home by yourself, okay?" He turned, but his final words were crystal clear in the early evening air. "Little baby."_

_For a moment, Adam almost fled. The house – his new friend's house – was so close that he could have reached it, even with Charlie pounding at his heels. But what then? His day was over. Night was coming, and night meant home. That was the way it had to be. Adam scrubbed his wet cheeks and trailed along behind his brother, one hand clutching the fuzzy red sock in his pocket._

_Yes, nights were bad. But there was always tomorrow…_

-x0x-

**New York City, 2005**

"I thought eating was frowned upon," Sheldon Hawkes quipped, dragging Mac's attention away from the television screen.

"Only in the first week," Mac dead-panned. "Plus, it never hurts to be the one who does the frowning."

Sheldon's chuckle was a warm and cheerful sound that cast a lively spell over the break room. "Good point," he agreed, and Mac raised an eyebrow – his own acknowledgement of the fact that they were both joking. Around them, the volume rose steadily as all the other occupants of the room began to relax. Mac understood that his presence there could be intimidating, which was why he often chose to eat in his office. Sometimes, though, he yearned to be around other people, not separated from them by a glass wall and that other invisible barrier – his position. He had no desire to be a cold and distant leader. Quite the opposite, in fact; he wanted his colleagues, both old and new, to feel that they could approach him with confidence and even humour, when appropriate, just as Hawkes had done.

"She's a pretty girl," Sheldon continued, his own attention caught by the face on the newscast. Green eyes, dark hair, pale skin and a serious expression. Ruth Eggar was everywhere today – and yet, at the same time, she was nowhere. Mac sighed in frustration.

"Yes, she is."

"No luck in finding her?"

"You think luck is part of what we do here, Dr. Hawkes?" Mac's level gaze was disconcerting, he knew, but somehow this easy bantering made him feel better. Besides, Sheldon could handle it.

"Yes, of course I do."

"And you'd be right. I'd give anything for a lucky break in this case. It's been too long already. Ruth could be hundreds of miles away – or…" _Dead,_ he thought, and could not bring himself to say it.

"Would you give… that sandwich?" Sheldon asked slyly.

It was another joke, but Mac pushed his plate across the table with a shrug. "Take it. Turns out, I'm not as hungry as I thought." In truth, his stomach was in knots, strangled by concern for Ruth and the memory of Paul Eggar's sour face and ugly disposition.

Now Sheldon did look troubled, clearly trying to work out the protocols involved in accidentally scrounging food from the Head of the Crime Lab. Fortunately, at that moment, Danny Messer burst upon the scene, his blue eyes bright with jubilation.

"We got it, Mac. We found the car."

'_We' meaning you,_ Mac guessed, liking the man's attitude. "Take the sandwich," he repeated to Sheldon, surging to his feet at once, as Danny flashed the doctor a lop-sided grin of startled amusement. "It's yours."

"Okay… um, thanks…"

Mac left the doctor sounding almost as flustered as that new lab tech, Ross, and hurried from the break room.

"Tell me," he urged, striding to keep up with Danny's energetic pace. It didn't take them long to reach the AV lab, and Danny waved his arm at the trio of screens, each one showing a separate image.

"Okay. First up; tyre treads were nice and clear, just like our witness said. When I ran 'em through the database, I got Honda, which was pretty much a bust – or so I thought. That's the must-have car for Joe Average and his family, right? Two point five kids and a Honda Civic… Turns out, we got lucky, though, 'cause after that, I checked the CCTV footage and there was only one Honda in the neighbourhood at the time Ruth Eggar went missing." Danny's grin grew wide as he pointed to a series of stills on the second screen. "See the white car; there, there…. and there? I followed it for twelve blocks."

"Only twelve?" Mac queried.

Danny had the grace to try and hide his smugness. "All I needed." Together, they stared at the third screen, which showed… nothing. No streets, no buildings and clearly no cars.

"Waste ground." Leaning in, Mac squinted until he managed to pick out the shadowy guts of what looked like an abandoned couch among the weeds and the rubble.

"You got it. I did some research on the site. Used to be an old warehouse, till it was demolished. Area's waitin' for regeneration – which means, of course, it's the local go-to venue for gettin' high and actin' all kinds o' crazy. It's also where our trail ends. The car went in…. and never came out. Place is a dead end." Danny faltered. "Okay, not the best choice of words. Let's call it…"

"A new place to start," Mac said grimly. "Good work, Danny."

-x0x-

A dark and ominous weather front was rolling in from the river. They drove through it as they crossed the Brooklyn Bridge, lost for several moments in a netherworld of mist and floating tail lights. When, at last, the Avalanche reached its destination and Mac stepped out, he could feel the tingle in the air all around him, like the shiver of suspense he felt every time the phone rang, calling him to another crime scene; another tragic example of the worst this city had to offer.

"Great place for a party," Danny muttered, slamming the door on the driver's side and peering through the wire fence. Mac gave a wry smile at his colleague's remark. Boxed in between a series of ugly apartment blocks, the wasteland was dreary; a wilderness of weeds and shadows littered with enough broken bottles and other, far more distasteful items to keep the Crime Lab busy for a month or more. Luckily for the unwitting lab techs, that wasn't the evidence that interested Mac. Right in the very centre sat the Honda, already divested of its wheels, its doors, its engine… almost everything, in fact, apart from the framework, which was covered in tags and sprawling doodles.

"'Skoo-B-Doo'," Danny spelled out as they passed through the open gate and stumbled over the rubble to the ravaged metal corpse - all that remained of their evidence. "Very nice. Very original." Suddenly, he stopped and sniffed the air. "Oh, come on - you gotta be kiddin' me! That ain't fair. Mac, you smell what I'm smellin'? 'Cause it sure ain't alcohol - though I'm guessin' that makes up most of the soil content, thanks to our fun-lovin' friends..."

Mac nodded. His nose was infallible and the scent was strong. "It's bleach."

"This guy's been watchin' too many cop shows," Danny sighed. "Trouble is, he's got the right idea. Any trace we manage to find in all this mess is gonna be corrupted. That's gonna make our job a whole lot harder – just what we don't need right now, when every second counts. We gotta find this girl…" He ground his teeth in frustration, staring at the far edge of the wasteland, where the fence was riddled with holes. "Who knows which way they went from here?"

"Trust your instincts," Mac told him, setting his kit on the ground. "Maybe our guy isn't as smart as he likes to think he is."

"He covered the car in bleach and left it to be torn apart by the local 'entrepreneurs'," Danny grumbled. "That sounds pretty smart to me." All the same, he opened his own kit and dug for his gloves as he waited, willing to hear Mac out.

"True. But there's one piece of evidence he didn't take into account," Mac said quietly. Like a rabbit from a hat, he produced the luminol in its handy spray container. Danny's eyes lit up and he smacked his forehead.

"The bleach itself. Which reacts with luminol, just like blood. Nice thinkin', boss."

"Examine the car," Mac suggested. Just as Danny had done, he snapped on a pair of gloves, before clipping an orange screen to his portable UV light. Suddenly, he was thankful for the dark clouds, which would make his task a whole lot easier. "I'm going to see if our not-so-clever friend has left a trail behind him…"

"Like a slug," Danny muttered, making Mac smile as his young colleague took a deep breath, donned a mask and ducked inside to study the abject remains of the Honda.

Mac sent out a wide mist of luminol, following its progress with the UV light. Splashes of bleach were everywhere, faint but visible. They circled the wreckage like a magical ring of protection – which was far from the truth, Mac thought bleakly. Even if Ruth was a willing participant in this strange deception, that didn't mean she was safe. He froze as the beam picked out a set of partial, glowing footprints, adult-sized, moving away. There was no smaller print to be seen.

"Danny," he said, breathless with urgency. "Have you found her? Is she in there after all?"

"No, Mac." Danny's head popped up. His voice sounded muffled but firm through the mask. "No body. Ruth ain't here, okay? The Slug took her with him."

"Then he must have carried her," Mac surmised. "Unless she kept away from the bleach somehow." With fresh resolve, he returned to the trail and began to follow it. The glowing prints grew fainter with every step but not before he tracked them all the way to a tall clump of weeds near the widest hole in the fence. There, he stopped in disbelief, unable to trust what his eyes were seeing.

The Slug, as Danny called him, had made a _big_ mistake.

A grin spread from ear to ear as Mac bent down and picked up the empty plastic bottle. "Got you," he said - and his voice was full of hope.

-x0x-

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read, follow, favourite and especially review this story. I'm really glad you're enjoying it!**

**(As I am neither a CSI nor a genius like our favourite lab rat, I would ask you to forgive any scientific lapses in this story. If they exist, they are - of course - unintentional. Generally, I try to make the evidence scenes fit in with those on the show itself****.)**

**Next chapter will be Adam, all the way!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A SECRET CHORD**

**Chapter Eight**

_**Arizona, 1985**_

_When he reached the gate, Charlie paused and waited for Adam to catch up. Perhaps he regretted his unkind words – or perhaps he, too, feared discovery. "Look," he whispered, "here's the deal, okay? You don't tell on me and I'll distract 'em while you go an' change."_

"_Tell on you?" Adam frowned. The morning seemed so long ago that he had quite forgotten how the day began but now it all came back to him in a rush; fractured memories of dirt and prickly bushes. There was pain, too, but he pushed that away. "I won't tell," he promised. After all, if Charlie hadn't fought with him, he would never have missed the bus – or met Thomas._

_Satisfied that he still had the upper hand, Charlie nodded. "I'll go first. You sneak in behind me. Don't make any noise – remember where the floor squeaks."_

"_I remember. Thank you, Charlie," Adam said obediently._

_The front door stood open. This was a safe neighbourhood - a whole community of new houses, filled with families - and all the local parents had adopted the friendly gesture, making their children feel welcome when they returned home from school. Charlie stepped through and disappeared down the stuffy, narrow hallway in the direction of the kitchen._

_Adam hovered on the doorstep, his fingers clenching tightly into little fists. It was the same every day, this struggle to push through the barrier between worlds._

_Laughter rang out inside the house but it was cheerful, not mocking. Charlie had kept his word, then. Adam took a deep breath and hopped across the threshold._

_Nobody heard him as he tiptoed to his room; the messy den his brother was obliged to share with him. Once inside, he closed the door as carefully as he could and leaned against it, gasping so hard that his whole body rocked. Sweat dripped from his forehead into his eyes and made them sting. "I'm not crying," he muttered, rubbing them fiercely._

"_Adam," said a soft voice through the door._

_With a gasp, he flung himself across the room and burrowed under the covers of his bed. "'M sick," he called out in desperation. His own voice sounded odd; all squashed and fuzzy, trapped within the walls of his makeshift cave. The stench of his clothes was trapped there too, making Adam want to gag._

"_Oh, honey," the voice said fondly, and this time it was much closer. Adam's tousled head poked out again and he blinked at his mother with wide eyes._

"_Really, Momma. I feel sick. You should prob'ly go away, okay?"_

"_Do you want me to?" his mother said, sitting down beside the tangled heap of bedding that was her son. One hand reached out and stroked his hair, twisting each curl between her fingers in a soothing motion._

"_Momma…" Adam sighed. He sat up and the covers pooled around him._

"_Tell me," she suggested._

_And now, of course, his words dried up, like a flower in the desert heat. Adam shook his head, staring at his mother's warm blue eyes, and her gleaming copper hair. She was beautiful and he loved her – but he couldn't speak._

"_Never mind," Momma said. "I think I know."_

_She pulled back the bedding and tried not to wince as she took in the ragged appearance of her youngest son. "Don't tell me you were fighting?"_

_Adam's head dropped. Better to hide his face so she wouldn't read the truth there. Charlie would kill him, even if he told by accident._

"_And I suppose you waited too long again. Adam, sweetheart, what have I told you about that? All you have to do is ask Mrs Roberts. She's not going to stop you going to the bathroom, if you need to. Didn't they make you change today?"_

"_No spare clothes," he managed to whisper._

"_Oh," his mother said with a sudden edge of guilt in her voice. "That's down to me. I've only just washed the last ones. You can take them back tomorrow."_

_Rising to her feet, she fetched a clean pair of pants and a t-shirt from the closet. They belonged to Charlie but Adam didn't have the strength to point that out. They were clean, and that was all that mattered right now. "Come here," Momma said. "Stand up."_

_In silence, he obeyed. After the overwhelming warmth of his hiding place, the room felt cold and he trembled as his mother unbuckled his jeans and let them drop to his ankles. She made no further comment about their ruined state – but she did take a good long look at his bare legs._

"_Better," she murmured, fingering the yellow bruises that stained his skin below the knees. Her touch was feather-light, but Adam still pulled away._

"_Don't," he said, involuntarily._

_His mother sat back on her heels as though he had slapped her. "Adam…" she breathed._

_At once, he was contrite. "No, Momma. It's okay. I'm sorry… All better now, you're right."_

_She clambered to her feet and sat on the bed again, drawing him onto her lap and holding him there with both arms circled tightly around his chest. Adam wriggled at first, but then leaned in, closing his eyes as his mother rocked him like a baby. The scent of her was so familiar; violets and comfort. "I love you, Momma."_

"_I love you too, honey."_

_Stay, he thought, pleading stubbornly with Time. Just stay like this forever..._

_But faithless Time loves nothing more than trickery. The rocking ceased and Adam's eyes flew open as a voice called out from the hallway. "Harriet! I'm home." _

_A cloud passed over the sun. Adam shuddered in earnest. Momma stared at him and her eyes were dull._

"_Get dressed," she said, releasing him. "It's time to eat."_

-x0x-

**New York City, 2005**

The hum of the mainframe beneath Adam's feet was the heartbeat of the whole lab, or so it seemed to him. He loved this place already. The Boss Man was cool – a little short on conversation, maybe, but with a twinkle in his eye that let you know he was On Your Side and willing to hear your point of view. Adam knew – he _knew_ he talked too much when he got excited. He couldn't help himself, but Detective Taylor had been patient and, more than that, he had been pleased with Adam's work. The joy gained from such a simple affirmation was indescribable. Adam knew that, from now on, he would strive to do his best for the man who made him feel that way.

Then, of course, there were the gadgets. Never before had he seen such a dazzling array of wonders. Even a humble task like finding the password for a young girl's laptop had its own technological short-cut. Leaning back in his chair, Adam watched as the password-cracker rolled through countless combinations. He felt almost guilty, the whole thing was so easy. Solving crimes with 'plug and play'… Letting out an unexpected giggle, he clapped a hand across his mouth and glanced around in dismay but no one had heard him, thank goodness. He was alone; the sole commander of a blinking flight deck. The captain on the bridge. "Beam me up, okay?" he whispered happily. "I must be dreaming."

A respectful little beep let him know that the programme had done its work. "Good job," he told the device. Patting it gently, he unplugged it from the laptop and set it aside before turning back to the screen, which had blossomed into life, inviting him in like a new friend. "Hello, Ruth," he murmured. "I'm Adam."

The first thing that caught his attention was the number of folders crammed onto the desktop. Clearly, Ruth was not tidy-minded – either that, or she liked to have everything to hand, for easy access. "So, you're a fan of short-cuts too," Adam teased her, scanning the icons for anything that might take him deeper into her head. As he swept his gaze across the file names, he realised that the picture beneath the clutter was not one of the usual bright, generic XP backgrounds but something far more personal and intriguing. Accessing Ruth's chosen settings, he took a better look at the scene in its original format, leaning in and studying it with deep fascination. It was an image that she had taken from the internet – the original site was listed – and it showed a curious figure, dancing along a river bank, dressed in red and yellow with a pipe at his lips and a line of children dancing behind him.

"I know you…" Adam wriggled as a memory stirred. A song, perhaps… or a story? Rolling his chair across the room, he settled himself at one of the main access points and typed in a few key words – 'piper', 'red and yellow', 'children' - which popped up in triplicate on the row of screens in front of him. "Wild," he murmured, grinning.

With smug efficiency, the browser offered its solution. Adam shook his head as he scrolled down the list of relevant sites. Of course – he should have remembered. The legend was a famous one and the dancing figure practically an icon. The Pied Piper of Hamelin, who charmed first rats and then children with his music.

Sliding back to the laptop, Adam stared at the original picture once more, feeling quite unsettled.

What was the Piper doing on Ruth's desktop?

More importantly, should he tell Detective Taylor?

_No,_ he decided. Not yet. First he needed to gather more information. After all, the girl liked stories, right? This could be one of her favourites, nothing more… _Yeah, right, and that Detective Flack's gonna dance a jig down the corridor any moment now,_ Adam thought sarcastically. The Piper was important to Ruth; he _felt _it and the conviction was so strong it made him shiver. Even so, gut instinct wasn't proof. His new boss was going to ask him '_why'_ and Adam intended to have the right answer.

Time passed. The world moved around him yet he barely noticed. He was utterly absorbed by the investigation, clicking his way through Ruth's folders one by one and scribbling notes in the little Moleskine notebook he always kept in his pocket. When he came across a collection of her stories, he opened the first document and began to read, hunching forwards and frowning with concentration.

_The Pale Woman._

_Her life isn't real. It disappeared into the past a long time ago. She sees everything around her but she can't touch. Who hears her voice? No one. They think it's the sighing of the wind. Who sees her tears? Only the one who made her what she is. She'll be a ghost forever and she belongs to him._

The chill that ran down Adam's spine was icy cold. Even more alarming was the hand that brushed his shoulder. "Oh!" he cried out, almost losing control of his chair as he spun round to see who had crept up behind him.

"Sorry," Lindsay told him, holding back the laughter that shone in her eyes. "I said your name. I thought you heard me."

Graceful surrender was the only way to recover his dignity. Adam offered up his most appealing smile. "Not your fault. I was reading," he confessed. "And, well… I guess I got sucked in. Detective Flack wasn't kidding – this stuff is spooky." He gestured to the screen.

"Tell me about it," Lindsay said with feeling. She peered over his shoulder, reading the first few lines and nodding in agreement. "I just spent the last hour and a half on a tour of Ruth's imagination."

"Is it all like this?"

"More or less. I think the same world runs through most of her stories, like she's invented it and it's growing all the time."

"Maybe…" Adam began, and then faltered. Lindsay gave him a reassuring nudge with her elbow.

"Go on."

"Maybe this was her way of escaping. Or, you know, making sense of things." He stared at the words on the screen, urging them to reveal their secret. "Like this Pale Woman, okay? She could be a real person – someone who's lost and unhappy."

"I wondered about that myself. So then, could this be Ruth? Is she describing how she feels about her own life?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe…" he repeated, tailing off again. He didn't want to offend Lindsay, who was being so nice to him, but somehow, that just didn't feel like the right answer. Ruth's description was separate; judgemental, even, though it contained no malice. She was simply using her words to try and understand. "What about her mother?" Adam whispered, startled by his own insight. Glancing back at his colleague, he saw a curious expression on her face; realisation mingled with pity.

"Yes," Lindsay said. "You're right. I met her. This could be Lauren Eggar. Good call, Adam; what made you think of that?"

"Lucky guess," he bluffed, moving on with haste. "But if Ruth does put real people in her stories, is it possible… can you tell if one of the others is her dad? Or this invisible 'friend' that promised to help her?"

"It's possible." Lindsay's voice grew thoughtful. Grabbing a chair, she sat down beside him. "There were quite a few recurring themes and characters. It was a well-constructed world, considering Ruth's age. If she based the whole thing on reality, as we suspect, then that would explain a lot. Let me think for a minute, okay..?"

Adam nodded. Dutifully, he returned to the screen, leaving Lindsay to her deliberation. Closing the story, he chose another document from the list and began to read.

_The Mouse and the Mountain._

_Once there was a tiny mouse who lived in the walls and was too scared to come out. He could hear the world outside. It was big and full of sounds that frightened him. He wished that he could be brave but he was just a mouse and no matter how many times he wished for it, he would never turn into a lion._

The story seemed to be a charming fable on the surface, quite unlike the previous description. Adam began to skim through the rest, looking out for potential clues. Further down the page, a single paragraph caught his attention.

_The mouse peered through a crack in the wall and saw the bird who was singing. His voice was beautiful and his song made the mouse feel happy. "Come to the Mountain," he sang. "Come to the Mountain and be free."_

In Adam's head, a series of random thoughts crept towards each other as he strained to understand exactly what it was about these lines that had struck a chord with him. A sanctuary – the Mountain was a sanctuary. And the bird, with its song… Was the bird the same as the Piper?

If so, could this Piper be Ruth's secret friend?

In the very darkest corner of Adam's mind, where he trapped his sorrows, a memory stirred. He pushed it away and forced himself to concentrate on the present.

"Lindsay," he confessed, "I need to tell you... I think I might be on to something…"


	9. Chapter 9

**A SECRET CHORD**

**Chapter Nine**

_**Arizona, 1985**_

_Adam poked at the sad, white piece of fish on his plate and wondered how on earth he was going to eat it. Carpet picnics and food experiments were all very well at the time but now here he was back home with a full belly and a daunting task ahead of him._

"_Adam," his father said from the big seat at the head of the table. "Don't play with your food."_

_A mysterious rule. Playing meant fun and that was a good thing, surely – so why did meal times have to be dull? Who made that decision on behalf of everyone? And how come Thomas didn't know about it?_

_Maybe things were different in London._

_Adam saved the question to ask his new friend later and speared a lump of fish on the end of his knife. Momma gave her head a tiny shake. Oh, he thought, remembering. Wrong again – and too late, as his father spotted the mistake and frowned. The knife slipped from Adam's hand, bounced off the plate with a sharp clatter and sailed towards the floor, scattering white flakes everywhere. Open-mouthed, he watched it fall. This was bad. So very bad…_

_Daddy set down his own knife and fork with a careful, deliberate motion. His mouth was full of food and he took the time to swallow it all before speaking._

"_If you don't stop eating like an animal," he said in a tone that was deceptively mild, "you'll be finishing your meal outside in the back yard."_

_Adam blinked, bewildered. "Like a picnic?" he ventured. Once again, his mother sent him a warning look across the table. So did his sister, Mary; fourteen years old and painfully shy, but kind, just like Momma. Next to Adam, Charlie sniggered quietly. Charlie had never liked him, not really. Not since the day he was born – the spare boy; the one that Daddy never wanted. Those were the words his big brother whispered, late at night in the darkness. And Charlie was clever, which meant that it had to be true._

"_No," Daddy said, in answer to Adam's question. "Like a dog."_

_Charlie laughed out loud at that and Daddy glared at him. It wasn't meant to be a joke. This was a lesson. Flushing to the roots of his hair, Adam ducked his head and wished he had the courage to push just that little bit harder. Anything to escape this room – but the punishment for answering back would be far more severe and, try as he might, he could not bring himself to risk it._

"_Sorry, Daddy," he mumbled._

"_What was that? Speak up. I can't stand that disgusting baby-voice. You're seven years old – start acting like it! Pick up your mess and make sure you clean your plate; every mouthful. Your mother spent good money on this food – my money - and I won't see it go to waste. Pick it up!" he repeated forcefully._

_Adam jerked his limbs in fright and tumbled from his seat, disappearing under the table and scraping at the carpet with his fingernails in a vain attempt to pick up every scattered flake of fish. As the rapid beating of his heart slowed down, however, his movements became less frantic. Down here, he realised, it was rather nice. No one stared at him, for the simple reason that no one could see him. He could hear the cutlery clanking on the plates overhead, and the sound of chewing. Legs shuffled. Charlie's feet were swinging. Adam backed away without looking where he was going… and blundered into Daddy instead._

_Big mistake._

_The toe of Daddy's shoe was painful as it shot out and struck him on the arm. Adam pressed his lips together stubbornly, his face white with shame. Not for the world would he make a sound. If he did, then everyone would know._

_It doesn't hurt, he told himself with fierce determination. It doesn't, it doesn't…_

_The pain fought back but Adam won. He drove it away with memories of rolling music and a shiny black piano._

_Quiet as a mouse, he picked up the knife, which lay nearby. It felt cold and strange in his hand and he stared at the curious object for what seemed like a very long time, with no thought in his head except for the music. When, at last, he came back to himself, he climbed onto his chair, laying down the knife with care, just like Daddy. The sticky wad of flakes, he dropped beside his plate. The smell of the food was rank by now. A skin had formed on the sauce and everything – the greens, the potato, the white lump that used to be a fish – looked cold and unappealing._

"_Thank your mother for a lovely meal," his father insisted, in the smug voice he always used when he was ramming home his point._

"_Thank you, Momma," Adam said. He lifted his eyes, but not quite high enough to catch his mother's gaze. At the same time, he scooped up a forkful of mashed potato and shoved it into his mouth. "Mm," he lied, around the sticky mass. "'S good."_

_In his head, he was eating peanut butter on fresh bread, while Thomas smiled at him._

_Safe at last in his own world, Adam smiled back._

-x0x-

**New York City, 2005**

"Now that's a sight to make eyes sore," Don Flack muttered, staring at the ugly brownstone in front of them. It was tall and thin, and lurked between its neighbours with a sullen air, as though it sensed they were trying to shoulder it out of existence, and refused to leave. More than two-thirds of its window panes had already disappeared, only to be replaced by dirty wooden boards or, in one peculiar instance, bubble wrap.

"Homely," Mac agreed,

Don turned and grinned at his friend.

"Anyone ever tell you, you've got a real flair for understatement?"

Mac gave a short nod. "Stella. At least once a week." His eyes narrowed, betraying an urgency that was out of balance with the casual humour in his comment. "Let's do this, shall we?"

Like a perp with questionable hygiene, Huntington House gave off a nasty odour – garbage, mixed with some kind of ugly stew, Don decided, sniffing the air and hesitating. "This is the place, then? You're sure?"

"According to Volker's Parole Officer. She confirmed his address, and proceeded to follow that up with a ten minute lecture on why her charge couldn't _possibly_ have anything to do with our missing girl," Mac commented, with some asperity. "'Gullible' doesn't even come close. Talk about the wrong career path. As far as she's concerned, our guy's become a model citizen since leaving Rikers. A shining example of rehabilitation."

"Yeah, right. A 'model citizen' who just _happened_ to leave his prints on a bottle of bleach that wiped out a whole crime scene – pun intended," Don smirked.

"That's what _I_ said - right before our conversation came to an abrupt end." Mac shrugged and headed up the worn grey steps to the front door of the brownstone. Don followed close behind him, breathing through his open mouth and trying to inhale as little as possible.

Like an all-access pass, Mac's badge was the charm that got them through the locked door, with its wire-toughened glass, and into the greasy reception area.

"Simon Fitch," said the young man who had buzzed them in. He thrust out an eager hand, which Mac ignored, much to Don's amusement. "Day warden," Fitch continued, undaunted. His lanky body, in its cheap suit, took on a servile cast and a pair of watery eyes darted from one detective to the other. "Always happy to be of service to New York's finest…"

_Save it,_ Don's face warned him. "Eric Volker. Room number."

"You know," the warden offered in an educational tone, "good manners cost nothing…"

His voice died away when Mac scowled at him.

"_Please,_" Don said, slowly and deliberately.

Fitch shook his head. "Room fifteen," he muttered. "Guy's in there right now. You want me to come along?" His expression was hopeful; the face of a man who was itching for a little excitement.

"No, thanks. I think we can take it from here." With a token nod in Fitch's direction, and a quick survey of the signs on the mildewed wall, Mac strode towards the staircase that led to the upper floors and rooms five through twenty.

"Charming fellow," Don muttered, by way of conversation, as they climbed. "I really think he liked us."

"What's not to like?" Mac shot him a wry look.

Eric Volker's room was on the third floor of the halfway house. Standing outside in the hallway, Don felt the same sense of nervous anticipation that always filled him when he encountered a hidden suspect. One hand reached around to rest on his service weapon as Mac knocked on the wooden door. Inside the room, Don heard voices but they were muffled; a television running in the background.

"Eric Volker?" Mac called out, with a sideways glance at his colleague.

Abruptly, the voices disappeared. Beneath Volker's feet, the floor creaked. Don could hear him shuffling on the other side of the door, as he ventured a reply. "Who wants to know?"

"That would be the NYPD," Don said, pulling his gun from the holster. Better safe than sorry.

"One second, officers." A series of clicks and rattles kept them waiting as Volker unlocked his door. When it finally opened, Don was startled to behold a youthful man with golden hair and the face of an angel; perfectly chiselled and bright with innocence. "Now then - what can I do for you?"

"You can come with us," Mac informed him. "You're under arrest."

"Are you serious? On what charge?" Volker asked reasonably.

"Let's see," Don said. "I think I'm gonna start with contaminating a crime scene, follow that up with a charge of just-plain-stupid, and finish off with abduction of a minor. How does that grab you?"

For a moment, Volker said nothing at all – just stared at them both with that dazzling gaze of his. Then he reached out his hands, clasped together at the wrists. His lips curled, as though he found the whole situation both curious and absurd. "Better take me in, then," he told them.

Since Volker was clearly unarmed, Don holstered his gun and reached forward with his cuffs instead. At the same time, in a move so fast that neither man saw it coming, Volker's left hand clenched into a fist and flew upwards, catching the detective full in the face. Don reeled back, stunned by the force of the blow, one hand pressed against his eye as the cuffs fell to the floor. Letting out a wild laugh, Volker fled, shoving Mac against the wall with unexpected strength.

"Get him," Don snarled. "For God's sake, get him, Mac."

The detective needed no encouragement. Already, he was up and away, racing down the hallway in pursuit of the golden-haired suspect. Don followed, but his head was spinning from the force of the blow, making spatial awareness something of an issue. When at last he stumbled down the stairs, he found Mac at the bottom with Eric Volker pinned in what looked like a death grip. One arm was clamped around his throat and the other one held his wrist back in a painful contortion, right up beyond his shoulder blades. "I'll say it again," Mac growled. "You're under arrest."

"'Kay," Volker squeaked, submissive now that he had no other choice.

Don gave Mac a nod that was pure gratitude; more than words could express. Tentatively, he pulled his hand away from his face. Seeing Mac wince was the only commentary he needed.

"You," he told Volker, leaning in so far that he caught a whiff of the man's breath – peppermint, of course, to go with his sweet expression – "you owe me. I want a full confession or I'm gonna add assaulting an officer to the list of charges, and trust me when I say that one ain't no favourite down at the precinct."

Mac released his arm from the young man's throat, just a fraction. Volker took a gasping breath.

"I'm sorry," he wheezed. "I was just trying to get away."

"I'm sorry too," Don informed him. "I don't do sympathy."

Floored by the detective's cock-eyed logic, Volker considered this statement and then tried again. "I'll tell you anything, but please believe me - I'm no pervert. You can't pin the kid's abduction on me. I'm the clean-up guy, pure and simple."

"Convince us," Mac said grimly.

"Gentlemen," Volker offered, moulding his features into a look of contrition that would have made Don frown in disgust, if his left eye hadn't swollen shut by now. "It would be my absolute pleasure…"

-x0x-

The interrogation room was cold – or maybe Mac was so far beyond tired that his body was reserving all its energy for the simple task of keeping him upright. Warmth appeared to be a secondary requirement. Drawing his jacket close around his chest, he glared at the golden-haired man who waited on the opposite side of the table. "Talk," he snapped, reluctant to waste energy on superfluous words either. After this, Mac decided, he was going to find the nearest couch and force his mind to switch off so that he could sleep, if only for an hour or so. It would be crazy to ignore the signs. That way led to exhaustion, and the kind of mistakes that could cost a young girl her life.

Beside him, Don Flack smouldered with silent fury.

"Better that I should do the talking, don't you think?" Mac had suggested, before they stepped into the room. He had seen Don watching Volker through the glass and he recognised the dangerous gleam in his friend's good eye. "At least to begin with."

"If you say so." Don's reply had been nonchalant – and didn't fool Mac in the slightest. Walking past them at that moment, a young rookie had glanced at the detective and his mouth had formed a little 'o' shape before he scuttled away in haste, driven off by a single blue-eyed glare.

"I mean it, Don. This case is far too important. We can't afford to jeopardise Ruth's safety because of your personal prejudice against Volker."

"Personal prejudice? Have you _seen_ my face? Did you _hear_ the guys in the squad room when we got here? I'm never gonna live it down, okay, 'cause they won't let me. Pardon me if I don't wanna be best friends with the guy who did this. And trust me, Mac. You've always trusted me before. This time ain't no different."

With a quiet nod, Mac had held his tongue from then on, leading the way through the door. Both men sat down and Volker stared at them nervously. When Mac issued his abrupt command, the suspect twitched.

"I told you I'd confess," he argued. "I'm not a liar."

"Just a criminal, then," Don muttered.

Volker shrugged. "As you say. If an over-use of bleach and a punch in the face – once again, sorry about that, Detective - can be counted as criminal activities."

"You'd better believe it…"

Mac interrupted smoothly, leaning forwards. "Right now, it's the bleach that interests me. As for the punch in the face – well, that's between you and my friend here. I could leave you two alone right now, if you like..." He glanced back at Don, who gave a suitably dark look that made Volker wriggle again.

"It was a contract, okay? I was hired. I'm known around the neighbourhood for certain… services."

"You clean up other people's 'work'," Mac said, by way of clarification.

Volker nodded. "Precisely. I bought the bleach at a local bodega. Remember that cellphone you took off me when we got here? Check the texts – you'll find a whole series of conversations between me and the man you're really looking for."

"Name." Don folded his arms and glared at Volker.

"I don't know. I'm sorry, Detective, really I am. Turns out, I'm not as scrupulous as I thought I was." He winced. "You caught me, after all. But the guy who hired me – he's no fool. All he gave was an alias. Mr. Piper – that's what he calls himself. You want to run with that, knock yourselves out. He won't be on anyone's database, I can guarantee it."

"What makes you say that?" Mac asked curiously.

"I asked around. I like to do that when someone hires me; you know, like checking references? No one knew this guy. That made me nervous, but I needed the work, so I chose to believe he was simply good enough to keep himself below the radar."

Don sneered. "Guess his only mistake was hiring you."

"Yes, apparently," Volker agreed, without malice. "If you catch him, I expect he'll point that out as well."

"Did you see this Piper?" Mac insisted. "Or the girl?"

"I saw an empty car. Look, Detective Taylor, I had no idea this was a kidnapping case. I have a moral compass, just like you, even if our settings aren't quite the same. I'm no monster. I agreed to help you, didn't I? So I'm telling you; check my cell phone. That's all the proof you'll need. You can track this Piper guy and find the girl." Volker gave a winning smile but Mac was dubious. Scraping the legs of his chair against the hard floor, he rose to his feet.

"I'll do that," he agreed. "But if I don't find anything worthwhile, I'm coming right back to _you._" Slowly, he walked to the door, pausing at the very last minute to deliver his final, crushing blow. "While I'm gone, I'll leave you in the capable hands of Detective Flack. I'm sure you two have plenty to talk about..."

He didn't need to look at Volker's face to picture his horrified expression.

-x0x-

**A/N: Next week, back to the lab...**

**Thanks for the lovely reviews! Hope you enjoyed the update.**


	10. Chapter 10

**A SECRET CHORD**

**Chapter Ten**

_**Arizona, 1985**_

_Clean at last and dressed in a pair of fresh pyjamas, Adam padded down the corridor, clutching Mr. Boo to his chest with both arms. Mr. Boo was an old black cat; a well-loved toy – the only thing Adam possessed that had never belonged to Charlie. He was the silent recipient of all Adam's whispered secrets but he also had a secret of his own. Beneath his left arm was a hole where the stitches had worn away. Safe in the bedroom, while Charlie was having his bath, Adam had murmured an apology to Mr. Boo and then removed several handfuls of his stuffing, pushing it under the mattress where no one would find it. Then he had poked the red sock through the hole, spreading it out with the blunt end of a pencil until Mr. Boo looked just as he always did. No one would know the difference. No one but Adam._

_One thing remained – to sew up the hole. Pausing outside his sister's bedroom, Adam called to her. "Mary? Is it okay… can I come in?"_

_He didn't expect a reply, and none was forthcoming. Instead, Mary pulled open the door, just a crack and smiled at him with genuine fondness, beckoning him inside. "Thank you," he said politely, and made Mr. Boo nod his head in thanks as well._

_Jumping onto Mary's bed, he let the mattress settle before he curled his feet beneath him and stared at his sister in mute appeal._

"_What is it, Adam?" Her voice was soft and pleasant. She never raised it; not ever. Adam couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing – but he loved her for her gentle nature. Sitting down beside him, she gave Mr. Boo a tickle beneath his scraggy chin._

_Adam pushed at his face from the inside until it wore a look of perfect innocence. He knew that Mary couldn't resist his big blue eyes and he used that knowledge shamelessly. "I need your help. Mr. Boo is leaking."_

"_Leaking?" Mary smiled. "That sounds serious."_

"_It is. He needs sur-ger-y."_

"_An operation?" Taking the cat, she turned him around in her hands until she found the hole. Adam held his breath. "I can do that. Leave him with me, okay?"_

"_Will you… can you do it now?" His fingers twitched in yearning and his eyes grew even wider. "Please…? You're my favourite sister."_

"_Adam, I'm your only sister. And I have a mountain of homework to get through before I go to bed. Math. I hate math." Grinning suddenly, she nodded. "You know what? I could take a break - but you'll have to assist me. If I'm the doctor, you're the nurse."_

"_Nurses are girls," Adam said with horror._

"_Nurses are boys as well. Doesn't Mrs Roberts teach you anything?"_

_He shook his head. "I teach myself. She's boring. Okay, so I'm a boy nurse and you're a girl doctor. What do we need?"_

_Mary pointed to her bookshelf. "That box over there. My sewing kit… I mean, my surgical instruments. Can you bring it here? I'll prep the patient."_

_Slithering down from the bed, Adam fetched the box and opened it up. With great care, he selected a needle and a reel of black thread. "Perfect," said the 'doctor'. "Let's begin." Adam squeaked as she pricked Mr. Boo with a pin. "Anaesthetic," she explained. "He won't feel a thing now. He's fast asleep."_

"_An-aes-thetic," Adam repeated dutifully. "Thank you, Doctor Mary."_

_Crouching beside her, on the floor, he craned his neck and watched with bated breath as she sewed up the hole, securing the sock for ever. A warm, fuzzy sense of satisfaction crept through his body. His plan had worked. His secret was safe. Mr. Boo would look after the sock and he could hold them both in his arms all night, to keep the Bad Things at bay._

_Mary tied a knot and ran the end of the thread back through Mr. Boo to hide it. "Now all we need to do is wake the patient," she smiled. "The operation was a great success."_

"_Thank you, Mary," Adam said fervently, squeezing the cat in his arms. "Mr. Boo says 'thank you' too."_

"_I should hope so." Mary's voice was solemn but her eyes were bright. "Now then – would you like to stay a little while? If you're quiet, I mean? I have to get on with my homework but it's nice to have you around."_

_The compliment was better than candy. "Maybe I can help you?" Adam suggested, wanting to give her something in return. "I like math."_

_His sister gave a chuckle – and she didn't say 'no'. Encouraged, he rose to his feet and wandered over to her desk, peering at the open book. "Can I try it?"_

_When Mary didn't reply, he turned back to stare at her – and saw that she was frozen in place on the bed, still clutching the needle between her finger and thumb. A chill ran down his back. She was Listening, he could tell. On her face was a look of dismay. Adam froze like Mary and Listened too._

_It started with a Hum, just as it always did. The Hum was a horrible sound; quiet at first but growing louder, like a warning that told you a Bad Thing was on its way. Adam's skin prickled with fear and he started to tremble violently as the Hum swelled into the Voices…_

"…_house is a pigsty. What have you done all day? Nothing! What kind of mother…"_

"…_Charles, that isn't true. You're not being fair…"_

"… _see the boy? His manners are shameful and he's got no pride. I keep saying it; you need to cut the apron strings. Let me take him in hand. I'll teach him a lesson or two about good behaviour. But oh, no, you whine and you pull that face, and like a fool I listen. No longer, Harriet; I'm warning you…"_

"…_Adam."_

"_What?"_

"_His name is Adam. Not 'the boy'. And he's seven years old, Charles… NO!"_

_The cry of pain ripped through Adam's head. He clapped his hands to his ears, still clutching Mr. Boo, who dangled down beside his face, staring at him with button-eyed sympathy._

_No more Voices. Only muffled Sounds, and they were the worst thing of all._

"_Come here," Mary whispered. Stiffly, she beckoned to him and he stumbled to the bed. "Stay with me," she begged, and he could see that she was close to tears. Together, they curled up with Mr. Boo tucked in between them. Mary lifted her Walkman from the bedside table and plugged the headphones in carefully, before setting them on Adam's head and clicking the 'play' button. Her escape. She had given him her own escape and now she had nothing. Adam wrapped his arms around her as the tape hissed in his ears and Freddie Mercury began to sing…_

"_Oh, oh, people of the earth,  
listen to the warning,  
the seer he said.  
Beware the storm that gathers here.  
Listen to the wise man…"*_

-x0x-

**New York City, 2005**

"The Pied Piper?" Lindsay frowned at the picture on the screen. "Isn't that a fairy tale? I'm thinking rats… and a river?"

"Actually more of a legend," Adam said. "And a famous poem – by some English guy called Robert Browning. I looked it up." He frowned in concentration, staring at the air to her left as though it held a perfect copy of the information he had found online. "No, wait – you're right, because the brothers Grimm wrote a story about him too. Sorry, Lindsay…" She could see the concern in his eyes; concern for _her_ and her wounded feelings.

"Don't apologise," she told him, folding her arms. "I'm not mad – I'm interested. I didn't know all that. Keep right on sharing, Mister Clever Clogs."

"Oh. Okay; thanks." His shy delight made her blush, and she moved on quickly.

"Why do you think this poem, or legend, or fairy tale - whatever it is – is so important?"

Encouraged by her friendly attitude, he obliged with a smile. "It's a really, _really_ old legend about a town in Germany that's overrun with rats, and this weird guy - the Piper - who comes along and promises to help them, for a price. When he plays his magic tune, the rats come running and they follow him all through the streets, till he drowns them in the river; every single one. He should come to New York, right? For real, I mean. He'd make a fortune." Reaching out to the screen, Adam touched his fingertips to the merry, dancing line. "When the job was done, the people refused to pay. So the Piper played again... and he took their children." Lindsay felt a shiver chasing down her spine at his ominous words. "See the point? He enchanted them, just like the rats. Took them far away and their parents never found them."

She blinked. "What? You think… Ruth's been _enchanted_? Adam, this is the real world, not some fairy tale - however grim." He winced at the pun as she continued. "Things like that don't happen here."

"Yes, they do." Adam was bolder now; stubborn in his certainty. "Con men, paedophiles, magicians, hypnotists... Movie stars." Lindsay spotted a twinkle in his eye and knew that he had thrown in the last example as a little joke of his own. "They can make you believe things are real. _Crazy _things. Isn't that a kind of enchantment? I think this 'Pied Piper' is Ruth's friend, or so she believes. Not the poem-guy," he added, just in case she had any more doubts about his sanity. "More like someone who identifies with him. It's a mask he's wearing. I think he… or, you know, maybe _she_… told Ruth exactly what she wanted to hear. And I think he's enticed her away."

"Okay – say you're right. How did he manage it?"

Adam frowned. "I haven't worked that out yet. I'm sorry…"

"Stop being sorry, for goodness' sake! Adam, it's a good theory. A _very_ good theory, actually… You should keep working on it. And tell Mac as soon as you can. He ought to know this."

"Um…" Adam stared through the glass at Mac's empty office. Trying not to laugh at his worried expression, Lindsay turned her attention back to the screen instead.

"Have you checked her emails? Social media? You know what teenagers are like these days. Half their life is spent online."

Adam's eyes narrowed, creasing at the sides. He ran his hand through his hair. "You think I should have done that already?"

Lindsay felt a wave of sympathy. Who didn't want to be perfect on their first day? A sudden, comical notion popped into her head, making her grin as she tried to picture the twitchy lab tech face to face with a live tiger; Mac Taylor watching his every move. _No way,_ she thought. _I win…_ "Follow your instincts," she told him kindly. "You're doing great. Just make sure you're thorough. Check and double check; triple, if you have to. Speaking of which…" She pulled a face. "I think I'd better go back to Ruth's stories and read them again with your Piper in mind. You can do the same with the ones on her laptop, right?"

"Look for a mountain, too," he suggested, bringing up the passage on the screen. "Or any kind of place that feels like Utopia for a lonely girl. If we find enough details in her stories, we might be able to work out where she thought he was going to take her."

"Utopia?" Not a word she would have expected him to use. Mentally, she revised her opinion of this strange young man, chiding herself for making assumptions about his character.

He wriggled in his seat, understanding the tone of her query. "I like words. Sorry to give you more work, Lindsay."

There it was again. Lindsay's hands were on her hips by now in a gesture that - far too belatedly - reminded her of her mother. "That's three times. Look, Adam, never apologise for doing your job. What you've found is a set of keys that could unlock Ruth's secret, and we need to try them all. Besides, if I've learned anything about this place in the last week or two, it's how much they value teamwork. _Really _value it, I mean. This isn't a one-man - or one-_woman -_ show." She fixed her gaze upon him to make sure he was paying attention. "Whatever you come up with, let me know, okay? The crazier, the better. Sometimes, 'outside the box' is right where we need to be."

Walking out of the AV lab, Lindsay could feel his blue eyes following her in return. _Did I go too far? Was I too condescending? _She was all too aware of her own rookie status. Adam seemed like a sweet guy – _and now look who's worried about people's feelings..._

With a sigh, she shrugged off her doubts and headed back to the Layout room. Condescending or not, her words had been truthful – she really did believe that Adam was on the right track and she couldn't wait to test his theory for herself.

-x0x-

It took Mac twenty minutes to get from the elevator to his office. Every single time he took a step in the right direction, someone else accosted him, with files, or questions, or forms to sign. Granted, he couldn't fault them for that and he knew it. He'd been out of the lab for several hours, and yes, he _had_ made it perfectly clear in the past that any important information needed to pass through him. But, really, did it have to happen all at once? As he scrawled his name for the umpteenth time on some official waste of paper, he caught sight of that new lab tech, Ross, watching him nervously from the AV lab. Wait - was he scowling again? His own reflection in the glass was faint, but he could see how his expression might be construed as a little irate. Carefully, he smoothed his features into something more approachable, just as Stella rounded the corner and came towards him, looking as vibrant as ever. One day, Mac decided, he would have to ask her how she did that.

"What's with the face?" Stella asked, as the young girl from Personnel – dammit, _what_ was her name? – scuttled away with her clipboard and her prize; a sheaf of forms that finally bore his signature.

Instead of a verbal answer, Mac gave Stella a look which told her everything she needed to know. "How's _your _day been?" he challenged.

"Took me forever to tie up the loose ends on the Hanson case but I'm done now, thank goodness. You want my help, you got it, okay?"

"Then help me get into my office," he growled under his breath as yet another white-coat changed direction and headed towards him.

Stella laughed and led the way. "Mac," she sang out loudly, "I need to speak with you in private." Simple but effective. The lab tech sighed and took the hint, disappearing into the Trace lab as Mac reached his destination at last and sank down into his chair with a sigh of relief. Staring at him, Stella shook her head.

"I'll tell you the same thing I told Lindsay this morning. Take a break."

"Soon," he promised. "There's one more thing I need to do." Yet again, his attention was caught by the sight of Adam Ross peering over the row of screens, and he frowned_. Two_ more things, then. Clearly, the new guy needed a lecture on privacy. Startled by Mac's angry expression, the blue eyes vanished, as did the raised eyebrows and the top of Adam's head.

"Are you _trying_ to scare him out of his wits?" Stella asked with some amusement, having watched the whole exchange. "Some kind of first day hazing I don't know about?"

Mac shrugged. "He's the one who keeps staring."

"Probably because he wants to tell you something and he's waiting for the right opportunity. Which is never going to come if you keep glaring at him like that. Or me," she added, when his gaze swivelled towards her mercilessly. "It's a valid hypothesis, Mac. Cut the poor guy some slack. Go and talk to him."

Seconds ago, he had planned to do just that – in a manner of speaking. Why did being 'told' always make him feel so defensive? "In time," he said. Setting down an evidence bag, he slid it across his desk and Stella peered at the contents with interest.

"A cell phone?"

"A lead. I wish I could say I was hopeful… so far, this is the closest we've come to the man who took Ruth Eggar."

"Then you've got a suspect. Other than her father?"

"We've got the Clean-Up Guy. He's down at the precinct with Flack." Mac gave a tight smile that faded quickly. "As for Eggar – he's not blameless in all of this; not by any means. He made Ruth's home a place of danger, when it should have been a haven. That's what made her vulnerable. Show me the evidence that proves the extent of his brutality and I'll lock him away with pleasure. Let him have a taste of his own medicine."

"Bully?" Stella said with an expression of distaste.

"The worst. If you'd seen his family…"

Silence filled the room. Mac longed to break it but he couldn't find the words. Frustration rendered him mute and he rose to his feet, avoiding Stella's eyes. "If you want to help," he said at last, "find Lindsay. She has all the evidence from Eggar's apartment." _Nail the bastard,_ he pleaded with his eyes, and Stella seemed to understand. With a brief nod, she left the room. Mac stood in the doorway for a moment, breathing deeply to calm himself, before crossing to the AV lab.

Ironically, Adam failed to see him coming. His eyes were fixed on the screen in front of him, and his fingers were flying across the keyboard.

"Playing games?" Mac said, in a stern voice that was guaranteed to make the young man jump. "On the Crime Lab system?"

As he had predicted, Adam's head jerked up in fright. The chair shot out from under him and rolled halfway across the room as he scrambled to his feet. "Mac… Boss… Oh! Detective Taylor, there you are… Um, this is… well, it really isn't what it looks like, okay…." His tone was breathless and, for a moment, Mac feared that Adam might actually begin to hyperventilate, right there in the middle of the AV lab. Folding his arms, he waited as the young man fought for control of his voice. It was a struggle, but Adam prevailed – somehow. "Please let me explain," he begged, pressing his palms together.

"Adam, I'm a reasonable man." Mac tried to evade the guilt he felt at having been the cause of such an overwhelming reaction. "Tell me what you're up to and if there's a logical explanation, I'll be the first to apologise for doubting you."

"Okay. Thank you, Sir… Boss. Detective…"

"Mac," he said, with all the patience he could muster. "Call me Mac." It was plain and far less easy to mangle.

Adam nodded. His gaze was fixed on the floor, making Mac feel quite uncomfortable. "Go on," the detective prompted carefully. "I'm listening." Both men were keenly aware that their exchange was in full view. Lab techs passing by on the other side of the glass kept their own heads lowered and their eyes averted. Mac clenched his jaw as he caught sight of the tell-tale flush rising up Adam's neck. Dammit. _Not the way to end your first day,_ he thought with unexpected pity for the young man's plight. Had he made a mistake after all and hired someone who was emotionally unfit to cope with the strain of working at the lab? Nerves like these were a big problem. They could seriously hamper Adam's ability to do his job…

But now the man was speaking, and suddenly Mac found that he was hanging on every hurried word.

"This game, okay; I wasn't playing it – I wouldn't do that, not here. It's the only thing on Ruth's computer that I hadn't already looked at – emails were a bust; nothing there, which is odd for a teenager, right? - and I've never heard of it before so I thought, you know, while I was waiting for you to finish talking with Detective Bona… Bonasera, I'd check it out. And now here you are, I guess, so I'll tell you what I… Look, Boss… um, Mac. This is what I've found and I think it could be important." Moving from the main desk to a small laptop nearby, he ran his finger over the pad and a picture popped up on the screen: Ruth's background image.

Mac took a sharp, involuntary breath.

"The Pied Piper of Hamelin," he said.

Adam was thrilled. "You know it," he said, full of admiration. Moving closer, he studied Mac shrewdly, his own face eager, though his body language still carried echoes of his former distress. "Then… you get it, don't you? Mac, this character means such a lot to Ruth. He's there in her stories, all over the place – we checked; not always the Piper by name, okay, but you can tell it's him. We think – Lindsay and me – we think…"

"This is her secret 'friend'. The one who took her."

"Wait - you agree with us? Just like that?" Adam's eyes were wide with astonishment, and a hint of something that looked like pride.

Mac shook his head slightly. "I don't _agree_, Adam; I know. You've hit the nail right on the head – you and _Lindsay_." Smiling, he waved the bag containing Volker's cell phone. "Leave the game. I've got another job for you…"

-x0x-

**A/N: * The album in Mary's Walkman is 'A Night at the Opera' by Queen and the track is 'The Prophet's Song'.**

**I loved all your comments about the last chapter – thank you! Over the next two weeks, I'll try to maintain my usual updating schedule – roughly a week, sooner if I can – but it's the Easter Holidays and that's a busy time for me at work, so please forgive any delays if they do occur. (Believe me, I'd rather be writing… hehehe.)**

**Hope you enjoyed it! Let me know. And thanks for all the 'follows' too.**


	11. Chapter 11

**A SECRET CHORD**

**Chapter Eleven**

_**Arizona, 1985**_

_Thomas lay in bed and stared at the inside of his eyelids, trying to convince himself that he was seconds away from sleep. Heat pressed up against his body like a second skin. On the floor, his sheets lay in a tangle where he had thrown them. His pillow was a solid, sweaty lump. Boxer shorts and a Pink Floyd t-shirt were all that he wore, but even they felt oppressive, clinging to him with such intimacy that he began to feel an irrational sense of panic. If I lie here much longer, he thought, I'm going to melt and slip right through the mattress like some B-movie monster. Thomas the Blob…_

_That image made him scramble to sit upright, gasping for air in a room that seemed to hold none at all._

"_I can't stand this," he grumbled to the shadows. "I'm getting out of here."_

_It took a while to detach his arms and legs from the bottom sheet, which clung to him as though it never wanted to let go. Standing up at last, he gave a shudder that had nothing whatsoever to do with the temperature and everything to do with his unsettled state of mind._

"_Weird day," he complained, as he plodded down the stairs. Very weird, in fact, and with the fearful clarity that always came to him at three o' clock in the morning he could see the flaws in every single decision he had made since crossing the road and taking Adam into his home. That was the circular theme of his brooding, and had been from the moment he set his head down on the pillow, hours earlier._

_Adam._

_How had one small boy burrowed into his thoughts so completely in such a short space of time? And what on earth should he do about it? After all, he was the adult; the responsible one, to all intents and purposes. He'd offered Adam an open invitation – but what if the boy did return? How far should he let it go; this friendship, or whatever it was?_

"_Don't be stupid." Thomas pushed away the errant questions. "You helped him out and that's enough. He won't come back. Why should he? Just forget about it."_

_Turning on the kitchen light, he gave a guilty start when he saw the mess creeping over every surface; remnants of the sandwich party and his own half-eaten supper. Easy to ignore last thing at night, when he could walk away and make excuses. Difficult to face when he came back to it like this. He could blame his lack of domesticity on the second-rate boarding schools that had raised him on behalf of his absentee parents, but there was an honest reason too, and the witching hour left him no place to hide from his own shortcomings. "You're a slob," he told himself bitterly, searching the counter in vain for a clean glass. In the end, he took a long drink of orange juice from the carton, pouring it straight down his dry throat so quickly that he began to feel quite sick. Thomas staggered over to the table, sinking down with a heavy sigh and resting his head on his hands._

"_This is fun…" said an unexpected voice beside him._

_The echo made him start. He looked up – and found, to his relief, that no one else was there. Only the ghost of a boy; wide-eyed and cheerful as he smeared peanut butter onto bread with questionable skill and great enthusiasm. Thomas smiled in spite of himself and lingered in the memory…_

"_Try some jelly beans. They'll make it sweet, and kind of chewy."_

"_Okay. Thank you, Mister Thomas…"_

_Adam had been breathless with excitement - over a sandwich and a bit of silliness, Thomas thought with some consternation, coming back to the present and the overwhelming state of his neglected kitchen. His mind was trapped in a loop; a kind of doublethink. He wanted to know more - to understand Adam and his situation – yet he did not want to know at all because the truth would bring its own dilemma._

"_I'm so sorry," he confessed to the boy who wasn't there. Spoken aloud, the words sounded weak and terribly selfish. "I don't know how to handle this."_

"_Don't worry," said a whisper. "It's okay. I understand…"_

_Thomas stared at the rubble and the scattered candy. Guilt took him by the shoulders and shook him. "Not good enough," he said at last. Rising to his feet, he began to collect the dishes. As he did so, in his mind, the loop began again…_

-x0x-

**New York City, 2005**

Adam could have worked throughout the night; he was so absorbed by the task of sifting through Volker's messages and contacts as he attempted to find a trail that led to the elusive Mr. Piper. In the end, it was Mac, of all people, who sent him home. "Don't fall into that habit," the detective cautioned. "Trust me; it's not good for you. This isn't college, when you can pull an all-nighter and sleep in the next day, or doze through your classes. This job is life and death."

"Yes sir." Thrilling though it was that Mac had given permission for Adam to use his first name, instinct was difficult to fight and he knew it would be a long time before he did so freely.

Mac gave a wry grin. "I'm not promising to lead by example, mind you. I'm just offering advice. Take it, Adam. Go home and get some rest. Maybe you'll get a fresh perspective in the morning."

Peering at his watch, Adam couldn't resist a sly question. "Are you leaving too?"

"I am," Mac said and, this time, the grin was wider. "I hate to think what Stella will say if I don't."

"And zombies won't help Ruth Eggar, right?"

"Something like that." Mac shrugged. "Did you make notes on what you've learned so far?"

Adam tapped his notebook. "I did. And, you know, if you wanted… I could just run through…"

"Is there anything urgent? A real name for our suspect? A way to find Ruth?"

"No, I guess not. The Piper used a burn phone – it's off right now – and most of the strands between them consist of instructions for Volker. A business deal, by text. What to do; where to go; how to get paid." Glaring at the cell phone, Adam's eyes were full of disappointment. It would have been quite something to break his very first case on the very first day. Not to mention the fact that he would be saving a young girl from danger. Like a superhero, he thought, wistfully. _Yeah, right. 'Cause that's what you are, Adam Ross…_

Mac's lips were moving again. Adam realised that he hadn't heard a single word. "I'm sorry, Boss," he said carefully. "I missed the last bit. What did you say?"

"I said, in that case, you can brief everyone on your findings in the morning. At the team meeting. Eight o'clock sharp." Was that… concern on Mac's face? "Think you can handle it?"

"Oh, sure; no problem. I'll look forward to it…" Adam bit his lip. Ridiculous choice of words, but he couldn't take them back. Already, Mac was passing through the doorway, heading off down the corridor in the direction of his office. _Going home? _Adam thought. _I doubt it. _For the Boss Man, he suspected, there would always be 'one more thing'...

Working on until he found a suitable place to stop, Adam cleared away all trace of his own work with absolute care and precision. Then he collected his coat and his bag from the locker room – so exciting, to see his name in print like that – and made his way back up the short run of steps to the elevator. Just as the doors were closing, another man ducked through to join him.

"Long day," said the stranger, with a friendly wink. "First for you, right? I ain't seen your face before."

"Oh – no. I mean, yes, that's right; I'm new. My name's Adam. Ross, that is." One day, Adam sighed to himself, he was going to get the hang of first contact.

Fortunately, this man was a natural. "Danny Messer," he said, sticking out his hand as the car gave a jolt and began to drop. Adam wobbled and clung to Danny's palm a little longer than he meant to but the other man pretended not to notice.

_I like you, _Adam thought. "Are you a lab tech too?" he asked, letting go of Danny's hand at last and reaching for the rail to steady himself.

"CSI. That means you get to stay indoors, all nice and cosy, while I'm out trudgin' the streets in the pourin' rain… workin' crime scenes and lookin' for leads…" The twinkle in Danny's blue eyes, behind his glasses, made it perfectly clear that he was happy to do so, in spite of his complaint.

"Is it raining? Really? I hadn't noticed."

Danny gave him a searching look. "Mm-hmm. You do look a little pasty, my friend. Did they warn you about the toll this job takes on your personal life? Vampires and lab geeks – you know what they have in common?"

"We do our best work at night," Adam suggested quietly.

With a chuckle of surprise, Danny clapped him on the shoulder. "Okay, buddy. I'll give you that one. Fancy a drink, to celebrate your loss of freedom? Some of us are meetin' down at Sully's."

The elevator reached the ground floor with another jerk. Adam clenched his toes inside his sneakers. _Some of us…_ "No thanks," he breathed. "I'm good."

Once more, Danny peered at him shrewdly. "If you say so. Rain check, then?" He let out another chuckle at the unintentional pun.

"Okay…" Hanging back to button his jacket against the weather, Adam watched the CSI stroll through the lobby towards the front door. Deep down, he knew he should have accepted the other man's offer – but the thought of being thrust into a group of strangers, all laughing and joking together, filled him with unreasoning alarm. On any other night, he would have pushed himself. Tonight, Adam needed to go home. It had been quite a day – an emotional ride - and now, as he followed Danny out of the building and felt the cold rain sting his cheeks, bringing him back to himself, he realised just how deeply it had affected him.

Mac was right, and Danny too. If he let it, this job could destroy him.

"I won't let that happen," he muttered, turning up his collar and clutching his messenger bag to his chest as he set off through the rain in search of the nearest subway station.

-x0x-

Adam was still getting used to the fact that he lived on his own - in a block full of random strangers, granted, but when he turned the key and walked into his own apartment, he felt a sense of privacy and freedom that was entirely new. "I'm home," he called out to Nobody, dropping his bag on the floor and letting it lie there, simply because he could. Of course, in a few minutes, his ridiculous compulsion would kick in and he would pick it up again, stashing it under the bed where it belonged. But that was his choice too – and so Adam was happy.

Shrugging off his wet jacket, he hung it on the back of a chair to dry and flipped the switch on the kettle. It was late – nine o'clock already – but a mug of coffee would warm him up. The last thing he wanted to do was catch a chill on his very first day just because it was raining in New York. Adam felt an unexpected twinge of homesickness for the dry heat of Arizona, but the steady patter on his window pane was friendly and the feeling soon passed. It was nice to be cosy and warm when the world was dripping outside. Pouring his drink, he wrapped his hands around the mug and sat at the table in perfect peace. His eyes were closed and a smile played on his lips.

Set free by the stillness of his body, his mind began to roam, as it so often did, linking random thoughts with the same kind of logic that ruled in his dreams. Detective Flack skipped by, dressed in a suit of red and yellow and playing on a pipe. Zack followed, arm in arm with Stella Bonasera. "No dancing in the crime lab," Mac's voice said from somewhere behind Adam's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Adam murmured, caught up in the vision.

"No apologising either," Lindsay told him sternly. Her hands were on her hips. Beside her, Danny chuckled.

The floor began to sink – yet Mac was still behind him. Adam could feel him breathing on his neck. "Have you found her yet?" the Boss Man said. "She's counting on you. Come on, Adam – this isn't a game…"

Adam's head jerked up and he realised that he had fallen asleep, right there at the table, both hands still wrapped around his mug of coffee, which was now stone cold.

_This isn't a game…_

"I didn't finish," he said thickly, scraping back the chair and rising to his feet. The thought was irritating, like an itch that needed to be scratched. He had looked at everything – _almost _everything– on Ruth's laptop but Mac had interrupted him right before he finished. Adam hated loose threads. If he wanted a dreamless sleep tonight, he needed some kind of closure. Finding Ruth all by himself was out of the question… but he could still play the game.

Turning on his computer, he took some paper out of the printer and set it beside him so that he could jot down any useful information. His little black notebook was safely stowed in his locker at work. The thought of taking it beyond the walls of the crime lab had troubled him, now that it was full of sensitive information. Adam was careful with his belongings but accidents could – and often _did_ – happen. Tempting fate was never wise.

The name of the game was rather intriguing, he thought, typing quickly and letting the search engine do the initial work for him. 'The Gates of Dawn' was a free download – surprising in itself, as very little on the internet was truly free. Once you had the main software installed on your computer, a whole new world was open to you – literally. Adam could tell right away that the realm of Aurora was highly derivative, taking its visual style from popular games like Final Fantasy and Kingdom Hearts. It was filled with all the usual character types – some of them anthropomorphic and some of them human. Adam guessed that the game was pitched at teenagers, or confident children – which meant _most_ children, these days - but it appealed to him too. He already had some experience with advanced MMORPG*, and felt pretty confident that he could navigate his way through this one. His vague and rather optimistic aim was to interact with as many other players as he could, carrying out a little online detective work, like a virtual Private Investigator. Ruth may not have been a fan of emails, but games often had their own communities, safe and anonymous. Maybe here, at last, he would find some people who really knew her.

"Any excuse, right?" he grinned to himself, watching his evening meal spin round in the microwave as 'The Gates of Dawn' downloaded slowly. When the last forkful of lasagna had made its way from the plastic tray to his belly (no washing up required), he was ready to begin. He popped open a tube of Pringles and considered his options. In the AV lab, he had managed to access the current statistics for Ruth's own character; a cat-girl with magical powers. A healer, judging by the equipment she had gathered, and her skill points. Not Adam's usual choice, but this was no ordinary gaming challenge. Time to use his instincts, he decided, as he chose a cat-boy with dark hair, a long tail and a rather wistful expression, customising him to suit his mission. 'Name?' said the prompt, and Adam lingered for a moment.

"Boo," he typed in at last. He was, after all, a creature of habit.

Settling back in his chair, he solved the simple number puzzle that opened the Gate, and set off on the first leg of his virtual quest as the real world disappeared around him…

-x0x-

***MMORPG – Massively Multi-player Online Role Playing Game**

**A/N: As in the episode 'Down the Rabbit Hole', this fic does make some use of Adam's skills in the area of gaming. However, the two stories will be very different. ****As my own knowledge on the subject is not exhaustive, please forgive any factual errors, if they occur. I try to base as much as I can on research and personal experience.**

**Thank you, as always, to everyone who is reading and reviewing this story. I hope you enjoyed the update.**


	12. Chapter 12

**A SECRET CHORD**

**Chapter Twelve**

_**Arizona, 1985**_

_Adam sat at the back of the class and watched the dust motes dance in the long rays of sunlight that were streaming through the window. He wanted to listen; he really did, but Mrs Roberts' voice was far less interesting than the joyful golden creatures all around his head. When dust lay on a surface, it was grey and dull, and made his daddy shout. When it spun through the air, it came alive. If I open my mouth, Adam wondered, will the dust fly inside? Is it inside me already? Is it inside Mrs Roberts?_

_That thought made his eyes grow wide and he smiled as he stared at the teacher. Big mistake, he realised. Now he had caught her attention; something he had managed to avoid all morning._

_Mrs Roberts stopped talking, right in the middle of a sentence. Around her, the shuffling and creaking ceased and the whole room fell silent, waiting to discover the unlucky target of her sharp tongue. Several heads swivelled in Adam's direction and he sank down in his chair, golden motes forgotten._

"_Adam. Tell me what I just said," Mrs Roberts commanded, folding her arms._

_A mean trick, and one that she often used. Most of the time, when day-dreaming in school, Adam kept one small part of his brain tuned in to the lesson, just in case. His uncanny knack of repeating her whole speech word for word was popular with the class but made Mrs Roberts look pinched and cross – a fact which confused him. Wasn't he doing exactly what she wanted?_

_This time, he had been careless and his blank look gave it away. Mrs Roberts pounced on him at once. Words could be just as painful as blows – more so, in his experience. Adam shrivelled and his voice betrayed him yet again as it lodged inside his throat, like a frightened rabbit in a burrow with a fox outside._

"…" _he ventured. Nothing came out and he dropped his head unhappily._

_Mrs Roberts appealed to her captive audience. "Adam doesn't think he has to listen. He thinks he knows everything already."_

_Nearby, he heard Abby giggle nervously, causing a ripple that spread through the room. From the seat beside him, Julie gave his foot a comforting nudge. Adam bit his lip and raised his head once more._

"_I don't," he said clearly. "I don't know lots of things. I wish I did."_

"_Then why don't you listen to me when I'm speaking?"_

"'_Cause you don't know them either," Adam explained. Having answered her question with honesty, he was startled by the flash of anger in her eyes, mingled with something that looked like fear. He knew fear. It was his enemy and he had faced it many times – but why was Mrs Roberts afraid? No one was hurting her…_

_You did, he realised, far too late. You hurt her with your words. You're as bad as she is._

"_I'm sorry," he whispered urgently, but now Mrs Roberts was right by his side. Her fingers twitched, yet she did not touch him._

"_Up," she said, and he rose to his feet, still trying to apologise. Mrs Roberts pointed to the front of the classroom. "Go and stand over there."_

_His legs felt as though they were stuffed with fluff, just like Mr. Boo. They wobbled and shook as he stumbled past his classmates. When he reached the end of his journey, he turned and saw that Mrs Roberts had squashed herself into his own seat, right next to Julie._

"_Very well," she said. "You're the genius; I'm the student. I'm waiting – we all are. Share your wisdom."_

"_Wh-what?"_

"_Teach me something I don't know. If you're so clever and I'm so stupid." Her voice was bitter and it frightened him._

"_I don't… I never said…"_

_The world was slowing down around him. He could feel their eyes upon his face. There was no laughter now. The whole class waited as the seconds ticked by slowly and not a sound came from Adam's mouth. He couldn't do it. He couldn't say a word. All the thoughts in his head had ground to a halt and he was locked in a terrible nightmare of shame that seemed to have no end._

"_I'm waiting," Mrs Roberts said. Her voice was trembling, just like his legs, and he knew that she had trapped herself as well. This scene was her creation but she had lost control of it._

_There was only one way out._

_Adam stared at Mrs Roberts, pleading with her to understand. Their eyes met for a moment. "Sorry," he burst out._

_She rose, but far too late, as Adam fled the room completely._

-x0x-

**New York City, 2005**

Punctuality had always been one of Mac's virtues. Even so, at precisely oh eight hundred hours (as he still liked to call it in his head), he was not the first person to arrive at the conference room but the second; a fact which made him smile.

"How long have you been standing there?" he asked the young lab tech who was waiting at the door. "Go in," he added, by way of a helpful aside. Adam hopped over the threshold and came to a stumbling halt when he reached the large table with its many chairs. Instantly, Mac saw his dilemma. "No politics here. Sit anywhere you like."

"Okay. Thanks. And, you know, not long." Shrugging in a cheerful manner, Adam walked along the row of chairs, clearly weighing up the hidden implications of his choice, in spite of Mac's encouraging words. At last, he picked a seat near the far end and sank down into it, clutching the table edge with his fingers in order to prevent a repetition of yesterday's 'rolling chair' mishap. Once he was settled, he folded his arms and smiled at his boss. With the full length of the table between them, Mac could still see the dark smudges beneath his eager blue eyes.

"I sent you home last night. Did you go?"

"Oh, yes." Adam's face was full of astonishment, as though he could not understand why Mac would doubt his obedience. "Straight home." Pausing, he looked down at his crossed arms. Something was on his mind and Mac found himself wondering what that might be, even as Adam began to speak again. "But – okay, the thing is… can I talk to you? Before the others…"

Too late. Even now, they were piling through the open doorway - Stella, like a breath of morning air; Lindsay, eager to begin the day. Sheldon, who chose the nearest seat with a quick, friendly nod in his direction. And Danny Messer, one of the most rewarding risks that Mac had ever taken in his career. Slipping in behind his colleagues, the young detective caught sight of Adam sitting alone and made a bee-line straight for him, much to his surprise - and Mac's quiet approval.

"Remember me?" Danny grinned.

Adam nodded breathlessly. _He's overwhelmed,_ Mac thought. This was the deep end alright, and he really hoped his new lab tech was able to swim.

Looking at his watch, he guessed that Flack had been delayed, so he cleared his throat to gain everyone's attention. The conference room was smart and comfortable; full of gleaming surfaces and brand new technology. Ever since the move from their old premises, Mac couldn't help feeling strange, to be discussing such dreadful crimes in a room that could just as easily host a business meeting full of lawyers, say, or bankers.

_Crime is relative,_ he reminded himself with a dry smile. And civilised behaviour was a buffer that protected you from the wildness of humanity's more savage instincts.

First to brief them all was Lindsay. Listening as the CSI ran through her findings, Mac chose to watch Adam instead, surreptitiously taking note of his body language. The young man flushed deeply when Lindsay paused to give him credit for the 'Piper' theory and its bearing on her study of Ruth's stories. His arms were uncrossed by now and his fingers played with the elastic strap that held his little black notebook together. His lips never moved, but his eyes spoke volumes. Here was someone who thrived on praise; not for any self-serving, unhealthy reason, but in the same way that the human body craved sunlight.

After Lindsay came Stella; late to the investigation but already attacking it with her usual fervour. Sliding a couple of pictures across the table for all to see, she exchanged a knowing look, first with Mac and then with Lindsay. The first photograph was of a scowling man with scratches on both cheeks. "Paul Eggar," Stella said, stabbing his face with her forefinger. "Ruth's father." The second showed a bloody item of clothing and, once again, her gesture was full of disgust - not for the picture itself but for the shocking implication. "Ruth's t-shirt, found in the back of her closet, covered in her blood – and _his_ DNA. Saliva, to be exact. He beat her and then he spat on her, Mac." Stella's eyes were blazing. "This is Eggar's 'handiwork' alright and I hope he's proud of it because it's the evidence that should put him away and make his family safe at last."

"Then Paul Eggar is responsible for the disappearance of his daughter?" Sheldon asked, new to the case as well and trying to make sure that he understood every nuance.

"Indirectly," Mac said. Stella nodded her agreement. "Eggar's bullying led Ruth to seek some kind of escape. Our suspect took advantage of that need."

"Any sign of abuse beyond the physical violence?" Sheldon kept his voice low and respectful.

"No." The answer burst from Lindsay but the rest of her words were tightly controlled. "No sign on her bed sheets, at any rate. Or his. That doesn't mean it wasn't happening, though… She left her _brother_, Mac. Something scared her enough to go that far."

Mac considered. "Stella," he said, "why don't you and Lindsay talk to the mother again? Without Eggar nearby, she may be willing to tell us more about her daughter and what really went on in that apartment."

The two women exchanged glances and in the end it was Lindsay, not Stella, who nodded in reply, even as Danny spoke out. "So then, if Eggar ain't our main guy – which I think we've pretty much established - we're lookin' for…what? Some kind of magic man who made her disappear? 'Cause last time I checked, figments of the imagination don't drive Hondas or hire ex-cons to clean up their mess." The flippant speech hid a far more serious question and that was the one Mac answered, recognising his colleague's attempt to lighten the mood a little.

"We're looking for a man, Danny; pure and simple. One who identifies with the Pied Piper legend – which tells us several things about him. Number one: whatever his motivation, he thinks he has a right to behave this way. Number two: he likes to think he's charismatic – and he's certainly 'enchanting' enough to have lured Ruth away somehow without ever being seen by the people around her. Number three: he's clever at covering his tracks – but not clever enough, as he left a trail of sorts with Volker, his clean-up guy. A series of text messages, which Adam here has been studying."

Every head swivelled towards the young man at the end of the table. If Mac had been a superstitious man, he would have crossed his fingers on Adam's behalf.

The lab tech blinked at his audience and clutched his notebook tightly, like a talisman. When he spoke, however, his voice was high and clear. Mac relaxed as Adam laid out the facts with growing confidence, bringing out the positive angle to every negative discovery. Clearly, he had been giving this a lot of thought.

"So, okay, Volker had four conversations with Mr. Piper and every one of them was by text. Piper used a burn phone, which means we can't track him now but if he turns it on again, you know… well, I've set up an automatic trace, so that's hopeful, right? He told Volker he'd got his number from a mutual friend but Volker's contact list is enormous and so far I haven't been able to make any obvious connections - I'll keep working on that, okay?" Gazing directly at Mac, Adam shot him a look that said _how am I doing?_ Mac gave a nod that was barely perceptible. "The last set of instructions told Volker how and when he was going to get paid. I called the precinct before I went home last night and Detective Flack checked with Volker – that transaction never took place. I was thinking, you know… it might be another way to intercept him. If we're clever and if he doesn't know that Volker's already been arrested."

"Good work, Adam." Mac's tone betrayed his surprise, but Adam showed only pleasure at the compliment. "Danny, you and Sheldon can work that angle for now - if you're done with the Brooklyn scene, and the Honda?"

"Oh, believe me - I'm done," Danny said with feeling, "CCTV, door to door – no joy from anyone in the neighbourhood and no sign of our girl or her charismatic 'friend'. It's like they vanished into thin air. As for the Honda, Slug-guy – sorry, _Volker_ - did a bang-up job. Not counting his unfortunate lapse with the bottle, of course."

"Boss…. I mean, Mac." Adam was still staring at him earnestly. "There's something else I should probably tell you…"

Mac nodded – but even as he did so, Detective Flack poked his head around the door, causing quite a stir among the occupants of the room, most of whom had not been briefed about his little 'disagreement' with Volker. His swollen eye was magnificent; deep red and puffy, with a perfect print of his assailant's knuckles just above the socket, leading to the brow ridge.

"Man…" Danny breathed, awestruck.

"Sorry I'm late," Don said, ignoring him. "But I just got a call from Kaile Maka. She's at a scene in the Upper East Side and it rang a few too many bells for her liking." He shook his head. "Mac, I really think you need to come with me, right now."

"Why?" Mac said, though he knew; oh God, he knew.

"Looks like the Piper struck again last night." Don shook his head and Mac could see the frustration in his one good eye. "Another kid's gone missing on our watch."

-x0x-

**A/N: Dun dun duhhhh….**

**More soon! Who's gone missing now? Are the cases linked? Exactly what happened to Adam in the virtual world of Aurora? And where, oh where has Little Adam run off to? All this and more in the next few chapters of A Secret Chord…**

**Thanks for reading!**


	13. Chapter 13

**A SECRET CHORD**

**Chapter Thirteen**

_**Arizona, 1985**_

_Adam had never run right out of school before. Nobody saw him leave and when he found himself beyond the gate, he stopped in astonishment, frightened by his own daring. The air was still and everything was silent. All the children were inside. There was no one else in the world right now but him._

_He leaned against the wall, panting sharply. At any moment, he expected Mrs Roberts to come steaming after him – hoped for it, almost, so that this strange ordeal could have a familiar ending – but time rolled on and there was no sign of her angry face._

_Creeping round the corner, Adam found a shadowy spot and crouched down in the dust to consider his options, which were limited. He could hear cars passing on the road, oblivious to his presence. Tears welled up in his eyes but he brushed them away with grimy fingers. "Baby," he muttered._

_The obvious thing to do, of course, was stand up and walk right back to his classroom. Maybe, if he was really lucky, they wouldn't even know that he had been outside. Adam tried to imagine how it would be but the picture in his mind was so vivid that his breath stopped altogether and he clutched at his chest in a panic until it returned. _

"_I'll never go back," he said fiercely, hating his teacher at that moment because she had driven him out._

_Home, then? It was a long way to walk but Momma would be there and, suddenly, Adam longed to feel her arms around him. He hugged himself and rocked in the shadows, picturing her beautiful smile and dreaming of her voice. "Oh, honey," she crooned, with her fingers twisting through his hair. "It's okay…"_

_But it wasn't okay. It was bad; really bad, and Momma wasn't the only person at home today._

_Slowly, Adam rose to his feet and turned to stare at the road ahead. He pushed his father's face right out of his mind and a curious feeling of peace settled over him, trickling down to his toes like an ice-cold shower. _

_Mister Thomas._

_His new friend had said that he could come back any time. The house was cool and quiet. No one could touch him there because his new friend wouldn't let them. "I'll go to Mister Thomas," Adam said, and his breathing was steady._

_High in the sky, the sun peered down with interest as he set off on his journey. It was almost fun, playing hide and seek with passers-by. Each time he heard footsteps or an engine in the distance, he would slip out of sight behind a fence or a parked car. No one saw him – or, if they did, no one cared enough to wonder about a young boy on his own in the middle of the day. Most people, he guessed, were inside anyway, eating their lunch or getting it ready – and that thought made his stomach growl with hunger._

"_Thomas will feed me," he told himself with child-like certainty._

_The buildings were thinning by now and the road was empty. Adam paused to dig out a stone that had bounced into his shoe. Overhead, the sun was no longer friendly but an angry face that burned him with its glare. The sidewalk was so hot that he began to fear his soles would stick to it if he stood in one place for too long._

_As he struggled with the laces of his sneaker, Adam heard a car pull up nearby, with a squealing of brakes that made his heart flutter. He didn't need to turn and look when the door slammed shut. He knew who had found him. The dream was over before it had really begun, and the nightmare was coming to claim him instead._

_Black and faceless with the sun behind him, Charles Ross strode towards his son. _

-x0x-

**New York City, 2005**

There was a key on the outside of Treasure Matthews' bedroom door. Mac tried to keep his features straight when he saw it, but he could feel a slow fire kindling in his gut. Judge Matthews followed his gaze and her eyes tightened. "Do you have children, Detective?"

A lazy defence for a woman whose stern reputation preceded her into every courtroom. When Mac shook his head, she folded her arms like a barrier between them, clearly convinced that she was going to win this opening round. "Then I hope you don't intend to make false accusations about my own parenting techniques. Treasure is a teenage girl, which means she's not to be trusted – as this incident has clearly shown. My method was working, or so I thought until this morning when I found the door wide open."

The judge used her daughter's fanciful name as though it were an obscenity. _Not your choice,_ Mac surmised. "How do you suppose she managed it?"

"Isn't that for you and your team to work out, _Detective _Taylor? After all, I do believe that's why the city continues to pay your salary…"

"It's an old trick," Kaile Maka put in hastily. She held up a stiff piece of paper and a sturdy wire. "One I used myself as a kid. Pretty sure I found it in a book somewhere. Of course, it only works if there's a gap beneath the door. Lock me in," she offered, with a cool edge to her voice that said she, too, was unimpressed by the judge's attitude towards her missing daughter. Stepping forwards, Mac complied. As he shut the bedroom door and turned the key with a very deliberate movement, his eyes never left Judge Matthews' face. Yet the woman was skilled in the art of concealment and her feelings – if they existed at all – were fiercely guarded and invisible.

Between the polished wooden tiles and the bottom of the door was a wide gap. Bending down and looking closely, Mac suspected that it could have been created by Treasure herself. There were scuff marks from some kind of tool and the base of the door was uneven. _Clever kid,_ he thought and, for a moment, he could almost feel her presence as a living thing, still there with them; stubborn and unyielding like her mother, but warm too, and full of youthful passion.

With a scrape and a jiggle, the piece of paper slid through the gap until half of it was on Mac's side. Behind him, the judge snorted. "Parlour tricks," she said. "Pathetic."

"Effective," Mac corrected her, rising to his feet. He could hear Kaile working away at the key on the other side until suddenly, with a satisfying _thunk_, it dropped from the lock and landed on the paper. The hidden detective retrieved her prize and, before Mac could blink, she was standing in front of them both, a prisoner no longer.

"Ta-daa," she breathed, with a wink for Mac's eyes only. "Turns out, Treasure could get out of her room whenever she wanted to – which makes me wonder if this was the only time she did it. What do _you_ think, Your Honour?"

Judge Matthews' only response was to turn on her heel and march away down the corridor. Her back was rigid and her head was high.

"Something I said?" Kaile's smile was unrepentant. Mac knew that he should be shocked at her attitude but he could not bring himself to reprimand her. Waving her arm, she ushered him in. "After you, Detective Taylor? I think the air's a little warmer in there. You look chilled to the bone."

And he was, though not from any drop in temperature. At first, Mac had secretly questioned Kaile's theory that this case was linked to Ruth Eggar's disappearance. Now he felt it, just as she had done – and as he stepped into the bedroom, he felt a lurch in his gut that banished every last shred of doubt.

The room was almost clinically bare, with nothing homely in it apart from a bed, a desk and chair, a bookshelf, a closet and a bedside table. There were no pictures on the walls and no stuffed animals on the bed. None of the usual teenage clutter was in evidence, and there was not even a rug on the hard wood floor. Above the desk, however, was a pinboard that claimed Mac's attention and _there_, tucked in between a study timetable and a chart of chemical elements, was a drawing, no doubt penned by Treasure herself.

The Pied Piper.

This was Treasure's own interpretation, heavily influenced by the Manga style that so many young people seemed to favour, yet the intelligence behind his expression was clear as his pale eyes stared out from the paper, challenging Mac to find him.

Mac stared at the cunning little sketch and, all of a sudden, he found himself wishing that he had paused for just one moment to learn exactly what it was that Adam Ross wanted to tell him, right before he rushed out of the lab.

-x0x-

Down in the lobby, Don Flack was experiencing a far more emotional response from his witness than the judge had displayed in front of Mac and Kaile. Oliver Raines had been in the security business for over thirty years and he took his job very seriously indeed. The disappearance of Treasure Matthews was like a physical blow to him and Flack could see the deep hurt in his eyes as he mopped his brow with a sharply-pressed handkerchief.

"She never went through the front door," he insisted, with such vehemence that Flack couldn't help wondering which of the two of them he was trying to convince. "And I never left my post. I swear it, Detective – on my life, I do. That girl's a friend o' mine, and that mother of hers – well, I don't mind telling you right now, she scares the bejesus outta me. I wouldn't ever want to get on her wrong side, believe you me!"

"Oh, I believe you," Flack said with feeling. He had encountered Judge Matthews before, several times, and he wasn't a fan. "So then, if what you're telling me is true, I see only two options. Number one: Treasure has a secret identity and she's really the Invisible Girl – unlikely – or, number two, there's another way out of this building and she used it. Any thoughts?"

Oliver screwed up his face so tightly that Flack began to fear his eyes, like the girl, would disappear entirely. "Fire escape, maybe? Or the service entrance – Oakland used to be a big old house, you know, back in the day, and some of the classic features were left in when they redesigned it as an apartment block. Dumb waiter, bell system – it's all for show, but the door is a real door."

"Locked?"

"Oh yes." Oliver seemed quite affronted by the question but Flack was persistent.

"You sure?"

"I… yes!" Before his eyes, the man began to waver, letting doubt creep in and taint his certainty. "That is, I checked it a couple of days ago… It's so old, you see, and no one ever uses it… Oh, God. Did I screw up?" He wrung his hands together and his shoulders drooped, turning him into an old man before Flack's very eyes.

"Mr Raines, get a grip. No one here is accusing you, okay? We just want to know what you know. After all, it was you who called us."

"I did," the man said, with pitiful eagerness. "I saw her outside, and I _knew_. That mother of hers would never let her out so late – never let her out at all, as a matter of fact. Poor girl was a virtual prisoner in her own home…"

"Mr Raines." Flack spoke firmly, but with compassion. He had no doubt that Oliver Raines was a good friend to the missing teenager, just as he had claimed. "Gimme the facts. What exactly did you see?"

Oliver nodded. "You're right. You're right; I'm sorry. What use am I if I can't even make a report? I used to be a soldier; you know that? Served my country and did her proud, I like to think…"

"Mr Raines," Flack repeated softly, catching his eye.

The old doorman faltered and stared at him, falling into silence for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was quite different; steady and full of conviction. Flack listened, jotting down notes in his book.

"It was two in the morning. I know, 'cause I always check the cameras on the hour, regular as clockwork. Like I told that lady detective, there was a car outside, parked halfway in the shadows so I couldn't see its plate. Next thing I knew, there was Treasure, coming out of nowhere. She walked up to the driver's side window and peered through. Felt like I was seeing things till another car drove by and the light caught her face. It was Treasure alright, clear as anything; I'd swear to that in court. She seemed pretty serious, too, like she wasn't sure about something. One moment, she turned back – and the way the camera caught her, she could have been staring at _me_. I froze, Detective. Hand to God, I couldn't move a muscle. Next moment, she was in the car and gone, just like that." He shrugged, but Flack could see the stiffness in his action, and hear the guilt behind his words. _I wasn't quick enough. I should have known. I should have stopped her…_

"Can I get a copy of the footage?" he said, breaking the spell. Oliver's eyes snapped back into focus. Finally, here was something he could be proud of.

"Already done. That lady detective – she asked me too. When she saw that car drive away… Well, I won't repeat her first words, but that's when I heard her call you. There's another kid gone missing?"

"I'm sorry," Flack said, making a mental note to speak with Kaile about her lapse. Gossip and rumours… they could spread like wildfire and cause untold damage in a case like this. "I can't discuss any details with you; I'm sure you understand that. But I'm grateful for your help, Mr Raines. And look – this isn't your fault, okay? You've done nothing wrong."

"Good of you to say so, Detective Flack," the poor man sighed. "I'll have to try and remember that when the judge comes down here to fire me…"

-x0x-

**A/N: Thanks to all those who continue to review this story – your comments make my day and also reassure me that the plot is working so far! Next chapter – back to the lab… and, of course, more from poor Little Adam.**


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